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A Browning Enthusiast. Mary D. E. Lauderburn 117 

Peace. Josephine P. Simrall, '93 129 

Wellesley Women in Medicine. Rose Howe Jameson 130 

Under the Pines. '94 133 

One Summer Day. Louise B. Richardson 134 

Translation from Heine. K., '95 136 

A Tale of Long Ago. Mary Grace Caldwell, '95 137 

The Burying of Miss Jadwrays. Emily S. Johnson, '97 139 

Grief. Dorothy Allen 142 

The Friendship of the Greeks. Margaret Young Henry 143 

Random Bits. Caroline W. Jacobus, '95 145 

A Study of Realism in Tourgenieff. L. M., '95 . 146 

Solitude. Josephine Batchelder, '96 149 

Using Her Influence. Emily Budd Shultz, '94 149 

Editorials 161 

Free Press 154 

Exchanges 169 

College Notes 162 

Society Notes 165 

College Bulletin 167 

Alumnae Notes 167 

Married 174 

Born 174 

Died 174 

idol m — ^December, 1894 — mo, 3 

Entered In the Post Office at Wellesley, Mass., as second-class matter. 

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The Wellesley Magazine. 

Vol. III. WELLESLEY, DECEMBER 8, 1894. No. 3. 







The Wellesley Magazine is published monthly, from October to June, by a board of editors 
chosen from the Senior Class. 

All literary contributions may be sent to Miss M. G. Caldwell, Wellesley College, Wellesley, Mass. 

All items of college interest, and communications to be inserted in the department of Free Press, 
■will be received by Miss Sarah C. Weed, Wellesley College, Wellesley, Mass. 

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Advertising business is conducted by Miss Elizabeth A. Stark, Wellesley Cojlege, Wellesley, Mass. 

Subscriptions to the Magazine and other business communications in all cases should be sent to 
Miss Alethea Ledyard, Wellesley College, Wellesley, Mass. 

Terms, $2.00 per year; single copies, 25 cents. Payment should be made by money order. 


" She is a Browning enthusiast," said her brother. 

They were in the luxurious parlor car of a long railway train, fast speeding 
toward the metropolis of the Pennsylvania mining regions. Her brother 
looked curiously at his companion, as he made this announcement, to see 
what effect it might have, but the other received his remark in nonchalant 
silence. He was a handsome fellow, this other, tall and blond, and seemingly 
solemn beyond his years ; for while the clearly cut features and fresh com- 
plexion indicated youth, the stern lines of the mouth and the grave eyes 
showed maturity of thought and determination of character. (He was one 
who might inspire awe in a sufficiently youthful and impressionable nature ; 
but his companion, Tom Browne, though both youthful and impressionable, 
showed no signs of fear in the presence of his tall and solemn friend. Instead, 
he rattled on in happy unrestraint.) 

" Though, to be sure, Pat is an enthusiast upon almost any subject which 
strikes her fancy, or that of her Boston friends. You see, Dana, Pat is too 


high-minded for ordinary, every-day Pennsylvanians ; and since her environ- 
ment does not agree with her theories, she goes off at a tangent. She's 
bright enough for two." 

" Is she like her brother?" asked his friend, quietly. 

" Dana, that is too bad ! Am I not plodding, practical, matter-of-fact, 
with just enough good sense to appreciate your fine points, old fellow? No, 
Pat and I are antipodes." 

" Which does not speak well for Miss Pat's appreciation of my — what do 
you call them — ' fine points.' " 

" I hope that you will like Pat," went on her brother, ignoring the last 
remark, " for it would be rather stupid for you not to ; still, we have coal 
mines to offer for consolation when the Browne family palls, and Geology is 
almost equal to Browning." 

Whereupon Dana turned the subject to the curious conformation of 
rock through which they were passing ; and that, and other characteristic 
peculiarities of the anthracite coal region, usurped Pat's place in the conver- 
sation until the train rolled into the station. 

" There she is in the pony cart," said her brother, as they left the warm 
car for the frosty air outside. 

" Is that the Browning enthusiast?" Dana's tone was surprised; Tom 
feared that it was disappointed. Pat looked enthusiastic, to be sure, but the 
object of her enthusiasm was some one much lowlier than the great poet ; 
some one who did not disdain to write verses himself occasionally, but who 
would have resented the insinuation that he was a disciple of any one, and 
who professed for Browning the utmost disapproval. Pat, poised pre- 
cariously upon the step of the pony carriage, with one hand grasping tightly 
the back of the seat, the other outstretched in welcome, was enthusiastic 
enough to satisfy anyone ; but the object of it all, at that moment, was none 
other than the thankless Tom, her brother. 

" The wretch," muttered Mr. Dana, under his moustache ; ' ; he doesn't 
appreciate her." For Pat had thrown her disengaged arm about Tom's neck, 
and was in the act of bestowing a kiss — no, two, three kisses upon his up- 
turned face. 

" Lucky dog," grumbled Dana. But Tom didn't seem to mind ; he took 
it all as a matter of course. Had not Pat received him just that way at 


every home-coming for four long years? Now that he was a Senior he was 
well used to it. 

" You dear boy ! " said Pat, in ecstatic accents. " How you have grown." 
Then in more subdued, but still audible tones: "Who is that? Tell me 
immediately, Tom, who is that?" 

" This is my friend Mr. Dana, of whom you have often heard me speak," 
said Tom, politely ; "and, Dana, you may not recognize my sister from my 
description, but this is she." 

Pat gave him a quick glance expressing great disapprobation before she 
held out her free hand to Dana. It was the left hand, but that could not be 

"This is a delightful surprise," she said. 

"It is a delightful surprise to me," said Dana, looking at her strangely ; 
then he went on : "It was only yesterday that my affairs took the fortunate 
turn that allowed me to accept your brother's invitation." 

"We shall all be delighted," she said again, gravely. Dana was 
surprised, somehow, that she could be grave, but it was only for a minute ; 
and then, as if relieved that she had done what her sense of propriety 
demanded, she sank back into the cart with a laugh. 

"How absurd, to be suspended this way between heaven and earth. 
Get in, Tom, do, and let us go home. Mr. Dana will grow weary of the 
scenery in these parts." 

Dana looked at her. "I like it," he said, solemnly. 

"What, like railroad tracks and a smoky station, with coal banks and 
a breaker for background? Tom, my dear, I cannot say that I admire your 
friend's taste." 

"Yes, I like it," said Dana ; but he did not look at the coal banks, nor 
at the breaker. He looked right at the girlish figure in its trim sealskin 
jacket, and at the winsome face, crowned with its short dark curls, in which 
the winter sunshine found some gold to sparkle upon. 

Then he was ordered into the back seat by Pat, while Tom clambered 
up in front and took the reins from the stolid coachman, and rattled them 
away over the frozen road, down a long street and up to a large and very 
modern frame house, which stood in the suburbs of the town. 

"A Browning enthusiast," said Dana to himself that night when he was 


left alone in a handsomely furnished guest chamber, after having enjoyed the 
warm welcome and the hearty hospitality of the Browne family. "She is, 
rather, a charming little chatterbox, very pleasant to spend an evening with, 
but likely to pall ; " and this serious-minded young man went to his repose 
feeling, it must be confessed, rather superior (for the Brownes, though a 
delightfully jolly and warm-hearted family, had impressed him as superficial, 
and lacking in seriousness and depth of character). Will Dana admired his 
friend Tom for his cleverness, and loved him- in spite of himself; but the 
friendship was new, and its endurance, to Dana's mind, at least, doubtful. 

While Mr. Dana was thus loftily reviewing the pleasures of the evening, 
Tom and Pat were in earnest consultation in the library. "You see, Pat," 
said Tom, "I am very anxious that you should impress Dana favorably. 
He's a jolly good fellow, — in fact, the finest man I know ; and if you will 

"Thomas Browne," interrupted Pat, with emphasis, "am I to under- 
stand, in plain English, that you wish me to set my cap for this fine friend 
of yours? And if that is your intention, let me inform you that you are 
mistaken in your sister. I should scorn to do such a thing ! " 

"Now, Patsy dear, do be sensible. It isn't that at all. It is just a 
joke. You see Dana thinks this place is a perfect hole, — and so it is, and I 
have acknowledged it; but I have told him that you — think of it, you, Pat, 
— are above it ; that you have imbibed Boston, as it were, and that you are, 
in fact, a Browning enthusiast" 

"O Tom!" Pat's tone was horror-struck. 

"Dana is a member of a stunning Browning Club, and he is fine when 
he begins to talk. But you will find that out for yourself. Just read 
Browning with him, that's a jewel, Pat dear, for my sake. I have a reason, 
a good one, but I can't tell you now." 

"This is utterly absurd, Tom. I shall not be a party to such decep- 
tion. I rather like Mr. Dana, Tom ; he isn't one bit like you." 

"But think of the fun! You would find out all Dana's best points, 
and be laughing in your sleeve at him all the time ; and " 

"Tom, please be quiet; I want to think about it," said Pat. She sat 
herself down upon a low chair before the fire, rested her elbow upon her 
knee and her chin in her hand, and meditated. 


" By Jove, she is pretty !" thought her brother ; " she'll do, anyway." 

Tom had experienced a sudden and intense admiration for Will Dana 
during the first days of his Senior year. It was the kind of admiration that 
deepens into adoration, and which will either go out like a flash or ripen into 
a firm and lasting friendship. Tom feared that it would not last, that Dana 
would weary of him, — Tom was not conceited, — and he had conceived the 
startling notion that to marry Dana to his sister would make everyone happy, 
■especially himself. Yes, Tom Browne was, for the first and only time in 
his life, a matchmaker. 

" Tom," announced Pat, solemnly, after a long pause, "you are absurd, 
and I do not do this for you, you understand; but I will do it just for — 
for fun." And then these two silly young people put their heads together, 
and talked excitedly until the tall clock in the hall chimed for twelve, when 
they betook themselves to their respective couches, rather guiltily, to be 
sure, but very merrily, to dream of conspirators and poets in curious 

The sun was still tinting the freshly fallen snow with its earliest crimson 
rays when Mr. Dana walked into the library the next morning. He was an 
early riser, and it had occurred to him that before the family were down 
would be an excellent opportunity to discover the possibilities of the Browne 
library. "There is an abundance of reading matter," he thought, as he, 
glanced about at the well-filled bookcases and the tables piled with maga- 
zines ; and then he stopped short. There in the window seat, the sun 
crowning her absorbed face with a golden aureole of hair, was Miss Martha, 
otherwise " Pat." 

"Beading Browning!" he ejaculated, mentally; and then, "Really, 
I beg your pardon for disturbing you, Miss Browne," he said, " but I am 
an unpardonably early riser." 

Pat looked up. 

" O, certainly, Mr. Dana; you do not disturb me," she said; then she 
fell to reading again with such an air of absorption that Dana was non- 
plussed. He took up a magazine from a table, and sat down ; but the chair 
he had unthinkingly taken was so situated in regard to Pat that he could 
only see her by glancing in a most uncomfortable, sidewise manner under 
his eyelashes ; so he changed it, and took another directly opposite her. 


She looked up again absently, and said, " O, pray, make yourself 
comfortable, Mr. Dana." Then once more the book received her, and Dana 
was free to read his magazine or to explore the Browne library. He did 
neither. Instead, he tried very hard to find out what she was reading. It 
was poetry, and the volume was of a suspicious dull green color. 

Pat stopped reading for a minute, sighed, and looked reflectively out 
of the window. Dana turned a page with the greatest rustling possible, to 
remind her of his presence. She only let her glance fall to her book again, 
turned another page herself, and silence reigned in the library. 

This lasted for ten minutes at least ; then Pat shut her book, threw 
back her head with a charming gesture, as if she were bringing herself down 
to earth again, and said, "Delightful!" 

" Might I make so bold," said Dana, " as to inquire" 

" What I am reading?" she said, brightly. " Oh, to be sure ! It is 
'The Ring and the Book.'" Her eyes sparkled with — no, not fun — 
enthusiasm. "Is not Caponsacchi's character noble?" she said. 

Now, whether it were Fate, or only Pat's happy faculty of always 
hitting upon the right thing, it would be hard to say. However that may 
be, it happened that Dana had very recently read "The Ring and the 
Book," and had prepared a paper for a certain brilliant Browning Society 
upon " Pompilia and Caponsacchi as Exponents of Truth in ' The Ring and 
the Book.'" It is also a fact that recent study of a subject is conducive to 
great conversational prowess when that subject is under discussion. This 
fact was amply proven in Dana's case, and the conversation begun in the 
early morning was continued after breakfast, and, indeed, until Tom 
brought it to an abrupt termination by insisting upon a sleigh ride, "to 
encourage the snow." 

" Mr. Dana talks superbly," said Pat to Tom, later, when they were 
alone and had an opportunity for private consultation. " Indeed, I may 
become an actual Browning enthusiast; and then, Master Tom, how will 
you feel?" 

" I can stand it if it makes you anything like Dana," said Tom. 

After that early morning talk Mr. Dana and Miss Martha became 
great friends. They read together every morning when skating or 
sleighing did not interfere. They held conversations that were interim- 


nable, in Tom's opinion. Tom almost regretted that he had started Pat 
upon this wild career of literary enthusiasm. The conversations consisted, 
in great part, of poetical readings, — Pat being the reader, — and philo- 
sophical discussion of the poem under consideration ; Dana, to be strictly 
truthful, holding his own in the argument with little or no opposition. 
But Pat listened so well, and her expressive face showed such keen ap- 
preciation of his finest points and wisest conclusions, that Dana never 
suspected that the cons of the discussion were creations of his own brain, 
as well as the pros. If any one had asked him he would have said 
emphatically, "Miss Martha is undoubtedly as clear a thinker as she is 
a brilliant talker." 

Dana was enjoying his vacation, and Pat enjoyed it too, for she told 
Tom so every night when they were left alone together to compare notes. 

The holidays sped away, and Christmas came and went. Christmas 
lasted for twelve days with the Browne family; for, as Pat said, "It is so 
long coming that we hold on to it when once we get it." However, Twelfth 
Night passed, too, and the happy vacation came to an end. 

On the eve of departure Pat sat alone in the library before a roaring 
fire. Mr. Dana and Tom had been shooting all day, but Pat, left to her own 
devices at home, had not been idle, and now she was awaiting impatiently 
the arrival of the sportsmen, that she might win their approval of her latest 

They came with the twilight, Tom disappearing immediately into the 
mysterious regions of kennel and kitchen with his dogs and his game, but 
Dana wandered into the library, instead. He had become aware of the little 
figure in the big chair in the firelight's glow, as he stood in the hall respond- 
ing to Mrs. Browne's motherly questions as to his success ; and when the 
greetings were over and Mrs. Browne had gone upstairs to dress for dinner, 
he mentally decided that he needed warming up a bit before the disagreeable 
dressing office should begin. 

There she sat, the sunset glow from the western window lingering in her 
hair, and the firelight flickering upon her face, as if each claimed her as a 
bit of its own brightness, Mr. Dana thought. There was a sheet of paper lying 
upon her lap, but when she heard him enter she held it eagerly toward him. 

" Oh, I have found something charming ! " she said. 


"What is it?" said Dana; "I am all interest. You know I love 
charming things." 

And then his heart gave a great leap, — for was not she charming ? and she 
must know that he knew it. But she didn't ; and she began very composedly : 
" Well, this morning, when I was left alone, I went up into the garret 
to see what treasures I could find among grandpapa's old books. There are 
no end of them up there, and some day we shall have them all brought 
down and arranged ; but now — I am glad you did not see my dusty hands 
and cobwebby hair. Whew ! it was shocking. I looked the veritable old 
woman with the broom who swept the cobwebs, don't you know? But I 
found my treasure." 

She stopped for approval, and Dana gave it unreservedly, though he did 
not say anything. He only smiled. She went on: "I found an early 
edition of Browning, — a first edition, I fancy. And in it was a little poem 
I had never seen before, and I do not believe that you have seen it. This 
is it. Will you read it, or — I am afraid it is too dark to read. I have 
learned it ; shall I say it to you? " 

" Do," said Dana. 

She leaned back in the great chair, her hands clasped behind her head, 
her eyes on the fire, and began without further preliminaries : — 

"O heart! loose, lithe, long-listed, lush, 
Harken — The crimson rush ! 
Blood? No; roses, thorns, brakes, — 

Fair eye ! look fool, and list ! 
Pale purpling amethyst; 
And yet the evening sky, 
The same? 

But you and I 
And Death make three, 
And, three and one are — what? 
Suave amber deluge, spot on spot, 
Till spotted spotless is. 

Sweet heart ! 

Sweet eye ! 


She stopped with a queer little tremble in her voice. Will Dana had not 
given his usual critical attention to the poem. The charm of the graceful 
figure and the sweet, clear voice was upon him. 

"It reminds me," he said, slowly, — he felt as if he were desecrating 
something by speaking ; the low tone with the tremble in it seemed to be 
vibrating in the air, — but he went on. "It reminds me slightly of the 
little lyric ' Wanting ;' you know it." 

Pat said nothing. She suddenly sat upright, clasped her hands 
tightly together, and looked at him curiously. 

" You know it," repeated Dana. 

' ' Wanting is — what? 
Summer redundant, 
Blueness abundant, 
Where is the spot?" 

He paused ; the fire crackled for a moment undisturbed, then Pat went on 
softly : — 

" Breathe but one breath, 
Bose beauty above, 
And all that was death 
Grows life, grows love — grows love." 

There was a witchery about the hour. Will Dana leaned forward ; 
they were very near together, and the firelight suddenly died down. He 
clasped a small hand in the semidarkness. He did not mean to. He 
really could not help it. 

" Martha. Dear heart ! " he said, 

"Well! What are you doing herein the dark?" called out Tom's 
cheery voice from the hall. " I say, Dana, you would better get off your 
shooting toggery, and prepare to meet the applause of the family at dinner. 
I tell you what, Pat, we had better luck than you will ever have in your 
hunting expeditions." 

Dana had risen abruptly and was on the staircase with Tom when he 
fired this parting shot at Pat. But Pat still sat in the darkness, 
clasping her hands nervously together. 

"I am a wretch — a wretch!" she said, with something like a sob in 
her throat. "What shall I do — oh! what shall I do?" 


What she did do was to come down to dinner late, sit demurely and 
quietly through the courses, and disappear immediately afterwards, on the 
plea of a headache. 

It promised to be a doleful evening for the party downstairs, as well as 
for Pat. 

" I don't see what possesses Pat to have a headache on my last night, 
grumbled Tom. " She never had one before, to my knowledge. It is your 
abominable Browning, Dana." 

Mr. Dana had himself a lurking suspicion that Browning had 
something to do with it. He did not attempt to defend himself, and the 
two young men were very doleful until Mrs. Browne proposed music. The 
cheerful strains of the guitar and Tom's rollicking voice soon restored the 
good humor of the party ; and when some of Tom's friends dropped in later 
to say their farewells, they found the Browne household in its normal 
cheerful condition, barring Pat's absence and Mr. Dana's abstracted air. 

Meanwhile, Pat, in the seclusion of her chamber, was a prey to 
remorse. She lay upon her couch in the dark, pondering upon her sins. 

"How could I deceive him so," she thought. "I am a heartless 
wretch, a base deceiver ! " 

What though her epithets were commonplace and unoriginal, she 
hurled them upon her own defenseless head with a fervor that was part of 
Pat's makeup. Then with a thrill of self-pity — "I should never have 
done it if I had supposed it would make him like me, and — and oh, 
I like him !" She blushed furiously in the darkness, and forgot to condemn 
herself for a moment; but the revolt of a stanch, honorable nature against 
the dire consequences of a piece of folly was strong, and she soon began 
again her sell-condemnation. 

"He thinks I am good," she sobbed, " and he thinks I am brilliant; 
and when he knows, he will despise me. Oh, I don't mind that, I must 
not mind that, but I will destroy his faith in womankind, and he will be a 
cold, cynical man forever ! " 

From which the reader will perceive that Pat had perused some novels, 
if she had not read much Browning, before this Christmas vacation. 

" But I can atone," said Pat, aloud, and sitting bolt upright with the 
thought. " I shall see him and confess, and tell him that it is only I who 
am a deceiver ; that other girls are better and truer than I." 


The sob would come ; and yet, somehow, Pat felt comforted. She rose 
and lighted the gas. 

Some hours later, Pat, listening at her door, heard the merry voices 
of the guests down stairs bidding their cheerful good-nights and good-byes ; 
then she heard Mr. Dana's calm tones : — 

" And I too, Mrs. Browne, must say good-night ;" and a moment later, 
his footsteps coming up the stairs, Pat held her breath as he passed her 
door, but her heart beat violently. If he only knew, but — she must tell 
him herself, and then 

Tom came upstairs three steps at a time, whistling ; but he stopped 
suddenly as Pat's door opened, and a tumbled, curly head appeared. 

" Tom ! O, Tom ! " said a whispered voice. 

" Why, Patsy, how's the headache? " he called out ; but at his sister's 
vehement injunction to " Sh-sh — " he became quiet immediately. 

" Tom," she whispered, "will you do me a favor, and not ask any 
questions ? " 

" That is a great deal to demand of a senior," said Tom ; " but since it 
is you, Pat " 

"Well, then, please give this note to Mr. Dana to-night, mind, before 
he goes to bed — no, sir; you promised. I'll tell you some other time. 
Good-night." And then the door shut in his face, and Tom stood alone in 
the hall with a little envelope in his hand, directed in bold English 
characters to "Mr. William Dana." 

" Something is up," thought Tom ; but he restrained his curiosity, and: 
left the little missive in Dana's hands, with the injunction not to let Pat's 
Browning enthusiasm waste his midnight oil and cause him to miss his 
his morning train. "For, undoubtedly, it is a poem after Browning," he 
remarked, as he left the room. 

As soon as Tom had gone Dana tore open the little note, and read its 
contents with eagerness : — 

My dear Mr. Dana : — 

I have something to say to you before you go. May I see you in the library 
before breakfast? 

Martha Browne. 


Dana read the note over again. Something to say to him ! He had 
something to say to her. He had his most humble regrets to offer for 
having frightened her, — for having given such untimely expression to his 
feelings ; and he had much else to say. He had been thinking about 
her all the evening, wondering whether he should see her again, and 
whether a note could be anything but cold and formal. Poor Dana was 
very unhappy. 

He rose before the sun, and in the gray dawn went down to the 
library, feeling contrite and ready to eat any humble pie she might offer. 
In the great chair before the fireplace lay a paper. It was the poem she 
had read to him the evening before, and that was where she had sat, look- 
ing so little, and graceful, and lovable. He picked up the paper reverently, 
and seated himself in the chair opposite to read it. It was written in Pat's 
English chirography, but Dana found no difficulty in deciphering it. 

He glanced it over carelessly, then he shook himself, and read it again 
with interest. "Why! This is nonsense!" he said;- "but it is clever." 
He looked perplexed. 

Pat, coming softly down the stairs, saw him with the paper in his 
hands, and the curious, amused expression upon his face, and she stopped, 
her courage almost failing her. But it was never Pat who hesitated when 
duty called, as it did so loudly this morning. She drew herself up, 
clenched her small hands, and. walked bravely iuto the room. 

" Mr. Dana," she said. 

Will sprang to his feet and took a step toward her. The figure in 
the doorway was so little, so pleading, it scarcely seemed like the merry 
Pat. She looked more grave than he had ever seen her. There were dark 
rings under her eyes ; even the bright curls on her forehead seemed to 

"Mr. Dana," she said, "I am very sorry. I did it, — I wrote it, — 
that, I mean," pointing to the paper which he still held. "I — oh, 
I am so ashamed, so sorry — I am not what you think I am! No! listen 
please ; I must say it ! " Pat's words came fast ; they tumbled over one 

" It was all a joke of Tom's and mine. We meant it for a joke, I 
mean, but it isn't. And — and now you think I am clever, and I am not. 


And you think I am good, and I am not ; and you will never trust a woman 
again, and it is all my fault; please despise me! Indeed, — indeed, other 
girls are not like me ! " 

"Indeed they are not," said Mr. Dana. He went close to her, now. 
" And I am glad they are not," he said. He took both her cold little 
hands into his. "My darling, I never before saw a woman I could love, 
but I love you. May I?" 

But Pat only gave a little sob. 

"Oh!" she said, "you do not understand." 

"Yes, I understand, dearest, — I understand that I love you, and — 
never mind about Browning — I want you, just you." 

And that was the end of Pat's confession and Dana's humble pie ; but 
it was not the end of Browning, for, as they stood in the window together 
five minutes later, with the sun's first rays showering blessings upon them, 
Dana was saying softly : — 

" What matter to me if their star is a world. 
Mine has opened its heart to me; therefore I love it." 

" Well," said Tom, when he heard the news, " whether she has any 
enthusiasm for Browning or not, he is a Browne enthusiast ; and that's 

all right." 

Mary D. E. Lauderburn. 


Among the mystic shadows of the rocks, 

Up winding mountain paths, where mosses green 
Carpet the way, where the sweet quiet mocks 

Our vague unrest, and thoughts of things unseen 
Press close upon us ; by the clear, cool streams, 

Which laugh and murmur, yet refuse to tell 
The secret we would know ; in caves where dreams 

Fill the still darkness, and wild fancies dwell ; 
In nooks and crannies where the green ferns droop; 

'Neath waterfalls, whose clear drops flash and gleam; 
By the still pool, where water willows stoop 

To seek their image in the resting stream, — 
We search, with weary thoughts which will not cease ; 

Search, but find not calm-giving Peace. 

Josephine P. Simbai.l, '93. 



Wellesley women are ambitious. I remember when Bishop Vincent 
gave us kindly counsel, and represented his ideal woman as queen of the 
parlor and of the kitchen. He did not mention the office or hospital ward ; 
but that was nearly ten years ago, and now women reign everywhere. To 
the Wellesley girl who asks, Where can I find the most helpful, healthful 
field for all my powers? Wellesley's medical daughters may well answer, In 
the broad fields of medicine. 

It was unfortunate that, though many of the first women to study 
medicine were examples of cultured womanhood, so many thought it 
necessary to emphasize their supposed infringement upon masculine domain 
by masculine attire and manner. Yet, perchance, we had need of such, — 
women pachydermatous to the shafts of ridicule and obloquy that were hurled 
upon them, strong and resolute to carry out their purposes, indifferent to 
praise or blame. All honor to our pioneers ! 

To-day the typical woman physician is well-educated and well-dressed, 
refined in thought, manner, walk, and conversation. 

In no place have I seen the value of a college education more strikingly 
exemplified than among the students at a medical school. Those who, from 
financial circumstances or disinclination, omitted a preparatory college course, 
plainly showed the lack of careful mental discipline and scholastic habits. 
Some day, I trust, such a course will be a necessary qualification for admission 
to all schools where scientific knowledge and manual dexterity join to make 
the great healing art. 

In regard to the proper qualifications for the study of medicine, let me 
state that in addition to the sciences taught in all colleges, especially 
chemistry, a physician should understand dynamics, and have a fair reading 
knowledge of at least two modern languages besides his own, as some of the 
best monographs of the time are by French or German writers ; and it is 
desirable that those linguistically inclined add Italian and Norwegian to the 
list, when we consider the standing of those nations in the scientific world 

Indeed, no branch of knowledge, from the dead languages to modern 
ephemeral philosophy, comes amiss to the physician, who, of all professors of 


knowledge, needs a comprehensive education that he may understand not 
only the fads and foibles, but the very wellsprings of life, mental and moral 
as well as physical, of those who place themselves under his care. 

After considerable inquiry, I have ascertained that about twenty 
Wellesley graduates and special students are now engaged in the study or 
practice of medicine. I can name those only with whom I have been 
associated, and will let them stand as types. There are more whom I do not 
personally know, but whose work is of equal or superior merit to that of 
those of my acquaintance. 

My readers must remember that our Alma Mater herself still retains the 
bloom and freshness of youth, and that her daughters number few gray hairs 
among them all ; so in medicine, our triumphs are those of youth, and our 
mighty deeds and lasting laurels are still to be done and won. 

Dr. Mary Brewster is studying practical medicine in the New England 
Hospital, where she can, if there be time in the life of the ever-busy resi- 
dent physician, catch an occasional glimpse of Wellesley walls and Waban 

Another resident physician is Dr. Helen Baldwin, who, after a year in a 
Boston hospital and another in advanced study at Johns Hopkins, passed the 
civil service examination held in Philadelphia for residency in the large city 
hospital, in such a manner as to reflect great honor upon her two Alma 
Maters, Wellesley and the New York Medical School. 

Dr. Ruth Webster Lathrop, after taking her cum laude degree in 
medicine, is working for more honors in the pedagogic line ; and as medicine 
requires teachers as well as students, she is spending her time in the 
physiological and anatomical laboratories of the Woman's Medical College of 
Pennsylvania and in private tutoring. So devoted is she to this branch of 
her profession, that even during her summer vacations does she teach the 
young idea how to grow in physiological branches and anatomical shoots. 
She is not delving into the domain of disease, either theoretically or 
practically. We need just such workers in all branches of our profession, 
for in scientific medicine women are as yet unknown. 

Another nonpractitioner, Dr. Edith Harris Schad, writes from her 
pleasant home in Bellcfonte, that the charm of professional life has paled 
before the light of hearth and home, and that she has given up a large and 


growing practice to reign supreme in one small kingdom. And she is not 
alone in this experience. 

Still another, however, to my intimate knowledge, finds it possible to 
unite both home and professional life ; the one but making the other more 
easy and more precious, though she has scant time for esoteric philosophy 
or for social functions. 

Dr. Jeannie Adams, after years of careful study both at home and 
abroad, has now spent some time in the practice of a specialty, and has won 
a place for herself among the rising young oculists and aurists of 

Many Wellesley girls have done faithful and very successful College 
Settlements Association work. Among these the name of Dr. Mary Damon 
is well known, who severed her connection with the New York branch of 
that Association to go to Smith College, as professor of hygiene and general 
sponsor for the physical well-being of the students. Now she has gone to 
the free civilization and bracing climate of" our Northwest, and has settled 
down to private practice in Minneapolis. 

It is with especial pleasure that I mention the work, past, present, and 
future, of one of the youngest of our M.D.'s, Dr. Julia Bissell. Born and 
bred in India, educated in this country, she bore back to India her Wellesley 
diploma as a teacher. After three years faithful labor there, she felt so 
keenly her need of additional training that she returned to this country, 
where she took her medical degree in due time, and then perfected herself in 
the practical part of her profession by hospital and clinical studies. And 
now she is ready to take up her life work in India, with all her force of char- 
acter and vigorous and enthusiastic spirit in arms against the armies of 
superstition, fanaticism, poverty, and ignorance that confront those who 
enter on the mission field of India, where the people have no idea, not 
even the crudest, of public hygiene, and where their life, from their food to 
their religion, is a mass of filth and corruption. We realize that she will need 
every detail of her thorough equipment, and every atom of her courageous 
spirit, when we consider that the people for whose physical and moral up- 
lifting she labors are fatalists. Every attempt at sanitary reform is swept 
away by the epidemics of disease and famine which ravage the land. Small- 
pox, Asiatic cholera, and like diseases, are regarded as punishments sent by 


the gods, against which all human effort or protest is impious revolt. She 
must fight against that horrible evil, infant marriage, and against the opium 
curse, for which the people of India may thank their beneficent rulers. 
What chance can there be, morally or physically, for a child whose mother 
swings it up, drugged with opium, in its little hammock in the morning to 
drowse until evening, uncared for and unfed, that she may labor in the fields 
to provide her scanty meal of millet, rice, or sorghum ? 

Nor can we say that superstition and fanaticism are confined strictly to 
the limits of heathendom, nor yet to the poor and ignorant of our own land, 
while such illusions as "faith cure" and "Christian science" flourish. 
King Opium is hand in glove with King Alcohol, and the poor and needy 
we have with us always. 

At the present time many are looking to woman as the power for 
sanitary and social reform so much needed, — not only in far away India, but 
in our own country and at our very doorsteps. So let us, then, be ready, 
armed with knowledge, and the power to use it. More Wellesley women are 
needed in medicine. There is a vast work to be done, which no one can do 
so well as the well-educated, practical, and, above all, womanly woman of 

Rose Howe Jameson. 


Here under the pines I dreamily lie, 
Watching the birds go fluttering by, 
Hearing the breeze that rests with a sigh 
In the tops of the pines; 

On the slender needles, so fragrant and brown, 
That one by one fall silently down, 
When the branches are stirred by a wayfaring bird 
In the tops of the pines. 

Quiet and cool in my distant retreat, 
A shelter above from the withering heat, 
And never a sound from the traveled street, 
Here under the pines. 




The house stood a little way back from the street, just far enough to be 
suggestive of dignified quiet. The wide front door and vine-clad porch were 
a perpetual invitation to enter, but on this hot summer day the cool shadows 
of the old hall looked especially inviting. Two giant elms stood guard on 
either side the front gate and spread protecting branches over the roof, long 
since green with age. The sunlight flickered through the leaves, and when 
the warm breeze stirred the branches, danced with the shadows up and down 
the path and vanished through the door. In and out among the blossoms of 
the honeysuckle round the doorway, humming birds were darting. In the 
long grass of the front yard the buzzing of a single locust broke the silence 
of the late afternoon. 

The shadows had grown long, and the sun was nearly ready to drop 
behind the old fort on the hill, when a lady came slowly down the antiquated 
staircase and paused a moment on the doorstep. Her snow-white hair fell 
in clusters of curls on either side her face, and her faded blue eyes had 
a wistful, questioning look as she gazed up and down the street. The 
delicate outlines of her face, and the roses still lingering in her cheeks, told of 
the loveliness of her youth. Even now, standing in the shadow of the vines, 
Madame Stone would have been called a beautiful old lady. Suddenly she 
turned, and going to the quaint mirror that hung by the sitting-room door, 
gave a straightening touch to her bonnet. 

"Betty ! Betty ! " she called, "the sun is going down, and it will be too 
late if you do not hurry." 

"Yes, Madame, I am coming." And presently Betty appeared. Her 
bright, black eyes and dusky complexion revealed her foreign blood. She 
was a French Canadian, and had come to Madame Stone a little girl of twelve. 
She had adored her beautiful mistress from the first, and was now her devoted 
servant and friend. 

Madame Stone took Betty's arm as they left the house and turned up 
the street to the fort. "Betty," said she, her voice faint with excitement. 
" do you think we shall see them coming? It has been so long, surely they 
must be coming by this time." 


"Yes, dear Madame," said Betty, with a tender glance at the frail figure 
by her side, "it has been long, and we will hope to see them to-day." 

No one could have lived in Fairhaven long without hearing the sad 
story of Madame Stone, or perhaps seeing the mistress and maid on their 
way to the old fort every Thursday afternoon. Long years before this 
summer day a fair-haired woman stood in the doorway beneath the honey- 
suckle vines, and threw kisses to her husband and little son as they went 
down the street to the river. The happy mother went about her household 
work, and as the day declined, called her little maidservant to go with her 
and watch from the embankments on the hill for the return of the wanderers. 
But no sign or trace of the familiar sails could they discover. The weeks 
and months lengthened into years, and the waters of the bay were still as 
blank and cheerless as on that first sad day. 

The fair hair has grown white, but hope has never left the heart of 
Madame Stone. Her neighbors shake their heads, and whisper among them- 
selves that the sorrow has been more than she could bear. But Betty scorns 
such insinuations, and puts to flight all impertinent questioners. 

Madame Stone and Betty crossed the uneven field below the fort, 
passed the old cannon half embedded in the turf, and climbed the path, just 
wide enough for two, that rose from the bottom of the breach in the walls. 
As far as the eye could see stretched the waters of the bay, tossing and 
shining in the long light of the setting sun. Just beyond the point there 
was a glimmer of white sails, and the black stern and bow of a vessel's hull 
were visible either side the tower of the light. 

" O Betty, look ! They're coming ; that is the Nautilus. Oh, I told you 

that I should see my little son again ! Come ; I must be at home when " 

And in her excitement and haste she would have fallen had not Betty's quick, 
strong arm caught her just in time. 

They traversed quickly the rough field, and Betty had not yet the heart 
to undeceive her mistress. At last they reached the familiar gate. The 
locust now was still, and the humming birds had flown to their nests, but 
the sunbeams seemed to linger in the old front hall. What was that glimpse 
of white at the foot of the stairs? Madame Stone's heart beat fast with ex- 
pectancy as she hurried up the path. Suddenly she stopped, and clasped 
Betty's arm lor support as she murmured, " I knew it, Betty ; I told you ;" 


for there at their feet, with his head pillowed on his arm, lay a little child, 
fast asleep. Dropping on her knees beside him, Madame Stone showered 
kisses on the little apronstring that had become untied. All the changes of 
the years were nothing to her, for her eyes were blinded by the shining gold 
of the hair, and her heart was held by the little hands. 

In a moment Madame Stone sprang to her feet. A new light was in 
her eyes, and a determined ring in her voice, as she directed Betty to carry 
him up stairs. Slowly and gently Betty .lifted the little sleeper. Up the 
broad stairway and along the galleried hall they went, Madame Stone 
fluttering from one side of Betty to the other, now brushing the dust from 
the worn little shoes, and again hurrying to shade the eyes of the child from 
the light of an open window. At last they reached the door of the small 
room that only Madame Stone had entered all these years. Betty hesitated 
for an instant, but the older woman drew her in,. and helped her lay the child 
to rest on the small white bed. 

The path upon the fort is almost overgrown with weeds, but the old 
cannon in the field is worn smooth and shiny by a small boy who uses it for 
a steed, and Madame Stone never doubts that it is her little son whose feet 
patter along the halls and up and down the stairway. 

Louise B. Richardson. 


They have made me hard and bitter, 

Made me hopeless, at war with fate; 
The one with her sweet love glances, 

The other with her hate. 

They have poisoned my life at its sources, 

They haunt me early and late; 
The one with her sweet love glances, 

The other with her hate. 

Yet the one who more than all others 

Makes me heartsick, and tired of fate, 
Is she who has never loved me, 

Nor honored me with her hate. 

K., '95. 



The Ions: sunlight was resting; on the castle walls and buttresses ; it 
touched the waters of the moat, and waked the drowsy lilies nodding there ; 
its warm glow bathed the western tower, but even in that glow the mighty 
pile rose dark and stern. One beam had found its way within, and was shin- 
ing on the armored form of a youth, who lay face downward on the stony 
floor. His form looked slight and boyish in its coat of mail, and when he 
raised his head, the face that showed was stained with tears. 

He had been lying thus he could not tell how long, smarting at first 
with shame, then living over again all that had brought him there. He 
thought of the day when the king himself had laid Excalibur upon his 
shoulder, and had bidden him rise a knight. Even now he felt again the 
thrill of reverence ; he felt again the sword's light blow ; and again that pure 
devotion to the godlike king. With the memory came a higher purpose, a 
stronger resolution, showing even in his face. 

More calmly now, more manfully, he strove to judge his own mad folly. 
He had broken his knighthood's vows. His father's anger had been stirred, 
and disappointment in the youngest, best-loved son had made that anger 
deeper. This was hardest for the boy. His own shame he could bear, but 
the stain he had cast on his father's honor seemed to brand his inmost soul. 
He realized something of the sorrow that lay beneath the old man's wrath, 
but he knew that sorrow would not soften his father's judgment, nor blunt the 
sense of right and honor that must satisfy itself at any cost to love. The 
boy's own pride responded to the thought, and his resolution strengthened to 
take upon himself and bear whatever punishment his father should impose ; 
to bear it till his sin be expiated, and he could some far-off clay be worthy 
once again the name of knight. 

The sunbeam long had faded from the room, when footsteps came at 
last; an old servitor of the castle, drawing back the heavy bolt, spoke into 
the darkness, "Art here? Thy father waiteth thee." As they walked the 
echoing galleries the servitor felt a strange, new firmness in the youth, — a 
firmness that did not waver even when he stood in the great hall where 
squires and armored knights, pages in their gay red cloaks, and serving 


people, — all the household, — were assembled. Something of the same new 
strength the father felt as the youth, with bent head, knelt before him. 

"For the sin that thou hast sinned," the words came slowly from the 
old man's lips, "thou art unworthy of the name of knight." The boy gave 
no sign, save that his face was very pale. "I bid thee lay aside thy spurs 
and sword. I bid thee leave thy home and wander o'er the land until, by 
some achievement brave and pure, thou hast wiped out the stain of this thy 

Unsteadily, speaking not a word, the boy loosed the scabbard from his 
side, took off his spurs, and walked blindly, as in a dream, down the long 
hall, through the great door, out into the night. 

For weaiy days and weeks he journeyed on, sometimes over sunny 
moorlands, sometimes through dismal tracts of wilderness. Sometimes his 
heart would leap in accord with the glad life all around, but far more often 
dreary days would well nigh take away all hope of winning back his honor 
and his father's love. Then he would feel again the brand Excalibur upon 
his shoulder, and would see again, more vivid than any dream, the strong face 
of the godlike king. Inspired to new endeavor he would rise and journey on. 

When spring had blossomed into summer, and a second spring was 
come, the youth chanced one day upon a holy hermit, and tarried with him 
for the night. The kindness of the good man won him, and he told the 
' story of his sin ; and with a lighter heart than he had known for many a 
month he laid him down that night. As he slept the king came to him in a 
dream and bade him rise, take horse and spear, and go to Camelot, where an 
adventure was awaiting him. The light from the king's face falling on him 
seemed to waken him, and when he looked about the same pure radiance 
filled the room. Quietly he rose and stole out of the hut. The moonlight's 
gleam showed him a horse, saddled and armored, standing ready by the 
forest's edge. Lightly he mounted, and rode to Camelot with the face of 
the king before him alway. 

At Camelot the day was fading into evening, and the people all were 
talking in excited, awe-struck tones, — were telling of the marvelous deeds of 
a brave boy knight. A slander had arisen 'gainst the queen, and now before 
his tried and doughty knights the king had trusted to a boy the defending of 


her honor. The brave young champion had fought a valiant fight against a 
man of twice his years and strength, and when at last he had been stricken 
from his horse, the mighty heart of the throng had almost ceased to beat. 
But the lad had risen, had fought on foot ; and at last, it seemed with super- 
human strength, had pierced the helm and struck a death blow to the knight. 
Then the whole vast throng had risen as one man. But the brave youth had 
fallen, and when they loosed his helmet, life was almost gone. The king 
raised him tenderly, and as he bent above the brave young face he caught 
the whispered word, " My sin is expiated. Make me once again thy knight." 

Next day, as his body lay in the great king's hall, where all might do 
him honor, lay there clad in armor, spurred, with sword in hand, and visor 
raised to show the pure, calm face, an old man came to Camelot, came to the 
castle hall, and knelt beside the boy. All day he knelt there in the silence, 
and men drew back as fearing to approach a grief so sacred. When at even- 
tide they came and raised the aged man, they saw a smile of triumph on 
his lips, as though far off in some fair spirit-land he heard a mighty shout of 
greeting to the brave young knight who had at last won back his honor and 
his father's love. 

Mary Grace Caldwell, '95. 


Miss Jadwrays was a queer, grim little Welshwoman, by profession 
a seamstress, by nature a conspirator. She lived alone in a two-room 
house away out on the Commons, with only a cat and a rose geranium for 
company. Could the cat have spoken, she might have told strange stories 
of the plots and social reforms which Miss Jadwrays was perpetually 
hatching in her busy brain, and which she told over to herself in her sharp, 
high voice, staccato, with pauses between the words, in tones that pricked 
the ear like a well-directed fire of chestnut burrs. 

In the long winter evenings she sat down beside the cook-stove, 
sewing in hand, the cat purring decorously at her feet, the rose-geranium 
and student lamp on a table at her left, and sewed, and plotted, and talked 
to herself. A kettleful of strong green tea boiled gently on the back of 


the stove, and of this beverage Miss Jadwrays drank a cupful at intervals' 
seriously, and as if it were but a means to an end. This was the sort of 
life she had lived for years : she sewed and thought by day, she thought 
and sewed by night, and nothing had come of all her thinking. When she 
was thirty-eight years old, something happened which promised to call into 
play all her hitherto useless talent for strategy and dramatic situations. 
Miss Jadwrays was invited to join the Order of the Daughters of Poca- 

Now the Daughters, be it known, are a band of matrons and maids 
united by a love of the unusual. They have followed the example of 
their fathers, brothers, and sweethearts, who are banded together as the 
Reel Men; and, like the Red Men, the Daughters have adopted the toma- 
hawk and the arrow as the emblems of their might. On occasions of 
ceremony, all of them march together, two and two, wearing a costume 
whose splendor and originality defy imitation. It has even been rumored 
that when initiating new members, the Daughters indulge, with repre- 
hensible freedom, in war paint and the war whoop. Be that as it may, 
Miss Jadwrays was an intrepid soul, who feared no arrow of the Daugh- 
ters ; accordingly she paid her fee, was duly initiated, and donned, for the 
first time, the regalia, which she regarded with equal wonder and astonish- 

Soon after her initiation, Miss Jadwrays learned that the Daughters 
were about to hold a fair. She threw herself heart and soul into the 
work of soliciting cakes, pickles, and sandwiches. This mission took her 
out in all weathers, with the result that she fell ill, and was confined to the 
house. Within a week she died of pneumonia. The neighbors came in on 
the fourth day of her illness, and to their care she recommended the 
geranium, the cat, and a jar of spiced pickles, which she had solicited for 
the fair. After she had thus set her worldly concerns in order, she turned 
her face away and went to sleep, and never awakened. 

The Daughters took charge of the funeral. Some of them preferred to 
have no service beyond the ritual of the order. The majority, however, 
urged that a clergyman be asked to conduct the burial. As they were 
about to hold a fair, and would not, for worlds, hurt anyone's feelings, the 
Daughters invited the seven shepherds of the seven denominational flocks 


of the town to be present. All seven came, and each one offered prayer; 
then all read the burial service in chorus, each man skipping any portion 
which offended his own particular religious views. When the ceremony 
was ended, the clergymen rode away to the cemetery in a large barouche, 
green, with yellow trimmings, which the Daughters had hired for the occa- 
sion. The Daughters, wonderful to see, marched along two abreast, a 
woman with a large red plush volume and a woman with a covered market 
basket leading the van. 

At the cemetery the clergymen stepped down from their chariot, and 
stood bareheaded about the open grave. The women filed up, ranged them- 
selves in a half circle, and began to sing a hymn. At the end of the third 
verse they stopped, and the Daughter who carried the plush-covered book 
stepped out to the edge of the grave and looked down at the lid of the pine 
box for a moment. Then she opened the book, found her place with some 
difficult}', after having dropped two green silk book-markers unnoticed into 
the grave, and proceeded to sing-song a sort of ritual. Her companions 
joined in at intervals, with considerable difference of opinion as to both the 
time and the subject matter of the responses. 

Presently the priestess became interested in the service ; she raised her 
voice, threw back her head, and began to make mysterious signals with her 
left hand. The Daughter with the market basket came forward looking' 
extremely nervous. She fidgeted with the corner of the basket anxiously. 

"And as this white dove flieth upward from the lower levels of this 
earth," read the woman with the book ; then she stopped abruptly. The 
woman with the basket struggled with the lid, and finally loosened it. With 
great care she drew from within a poor, wet, shivering, little white pigeon, 
and tossed it up into the air. "So the soul of our dear sister forsaketh its 
poor earthly tenement, and soareth gladly," went on the priestess glibly, but 
came to a sudden stop. A little rustle, and a shrill, hysterical giggle came 
from the company of the Daughters. 

The bird, instead of soaring, had fluttered down into the grave. There 
it stood at this moment, perched upon the lid of the pine box ! 

There was a sudden commotion. The Daughters crowded around, all 
whispering excitedly. The priestess knelt down upon the very edge of the 
grave, at the imminent risk of falling in headlong, waved her gorgeous book 


at the poor astonished bird, and prompted in a gasping stage whisper, 

The bird refused to shoo. The Daughters were in terrible perplexity, 
aside from the shock to their religious feelings. At this crisis the pastor of 
the Second Baptist Society, a godly man and a noted marksman in his youth, 
stepped forward. This good man selected, with proper care, a hard lump of 
earth, took good aim, and threw. A sound of fluttering and the rattle of 
little pebbles upon the coffin box, — and the dove soared ! 

" Soareth gladly upward to its heavenly dwellings," finished the priestess, 
calmly, and closed the book. 

The grave was filled in, the seven clergymen drove off, the Daughters 
wandered away by twos and threes. The fair came off, and nobody missed 
Miss Jadwrays. She would have been utterly forgotten long ago had not the 
type of her soul refused to soar appropriately. 

Emily S. Johnson, '97. 


Sadly at a window sitting 

With bent head, 
Watching autumn leaves a-flitting, 

Brown and dead, 
I, gazing, wondered at the woe 
That made these teardrops freely flow. 

Moved by pity so to find her 

Eyes all red, 
Stepped I quickly up behind her, 

With soft tread ; 
" Sweetheart," gently faltered I, 
" Tell me, please, what makes you cry? " 

Eaised she, then, her eyes all shining 

Up to mine; 
Brimming o'er with silent pining, 

Love divine. 

"Dear," said she, "my old coat's sleeve 
Is out of style, and I don't believe" 
(With that her breast began to heave) 
' ' That I can make it look like new ; 
I've tried it once, and it wouldn't do. 
I'm in despair! Boohoo! boohoo!" 

Dorothy Allek. 



The story goes that Aristotle was once asked what friendship was, 
and he immediately replied, " One soul abiding in two bodies." The 
definition is, perhaps, more gracefully, more tenderly framed than we might 
have expected from the stern logician, and it casts a new, warm light upon 
his character. But while it is to him that we owe the phrase, it is to the 
spirit of his race that we owe the idea. The ever present beauty sense of 
the Hellenes which produced the Antigone in literature, and the Athene 
Promachos in art, gave birth, also, to a beautiful bond of affection that 
enriched the life of Greece, and might well serve as an example to later 

All that was highest and noblest in Greek life was present in its 
friendship. The people, who on the surface were careless and frivolous, 
grew suddenly earnest in a matter of friendship, and developed splendid 
qualities of strength and fidelity. Greek literature is bright with tales of 
pure devotion and unselfish love. The myths and the true stories are alike 
beautiful, and bear witness to the deep influence that friendship exercised 
over the people. 

It was to them what chivalry was to the Middle Ages. As the knight 
of the Round Table swore " to love one maiden only, cleave to her, and by 
long years of service, worship her," so the Greek pledged himself with a 
vow of love and constancy to his chosen friend. And as his bond inspired 
the knight to all brave deeds and high endeavors, so did the profession of 
friendship incite the Greek lover to achievements that should honor his 

The tenderness of the bond that united the friends is illustrated by 
numberless cases. In the fable of Herakles and Hylas, that Theokritus has 
told so charmingly, Hylas has been stolen away by the nymphs. Herakles 
searches long and earnestly for his bright-haired youth, till the ship sails 
away to Colchos without him ; and still he wanders over the Cianian shores, 
calling " Hylas ! Hylas I" while only the echoes answer to his grief. And 
we know, too, the lament which Moschus sang for his brother poet, Bion,. 
with its recurrent cry of uncomforted sorrow : — 

" Begin, and in the tenderest notes complain, 
Sicilian Muse, begin the mournful strain." 


This tenderness of affection gave rise to countless instances of self- 
sacrifice, even to death. " Greater love hath no man than this, that a man 
lay down his life for his friend." That is the keynote to the story of 
Damon and Pythias, and also to that incident in the Iphigeneia, of the devo- 
tion of Orestes and Pylades. When the king of Tauris did not know 
the friends apart, Pylades claimed that he was Orestes, in order to die for 
his friend ; but Orestes insisted upon his own identity. And Cicero says 
that when the story was acted upon the Roman stage, all the theatre rose 
up and shouted applause. "Thus did they admire in others what they 
could not do themselves." 

Underlying all this enthusiasm of devotion, and, indeed, giving life to 
it, was the reverence the Greek gave his friend. It preserved the closest 
intimacy from familiarity, and made friendship something exalted and 
sacred. Look at the group of Athenian friends whom Sokrates drew to 
himself, — the gay, irresponsible Alcibiades, the gentle Phtedo, the ardent 
Agathon. With what reverent, loyal admiration they loved him ! When 
he died, the greatest of them all said, "Thus died our friend, as we would 
say, the wisest, the best, and most upright of all the men of that time." 

This brings us to the most exalted form of the old classic friendship, — 
hero worship. Plato has dignified it forever by his words of approval. 
In that celebrated passage of the Phtedrus, he is speaking of a friend. 
" Looking upon the face of his beloved as on the face of a god, he rever- 
ences him ; and if not for the fear that all the world would consider him a 
madman, he would burn incense to his beloved as to a god." Surely that 
is the acme of all friendship. Devotion to another soul can reach no purer 
height. No wonder that such friendships inspired their possessors to deeds 
of sweet generosity and self-forgetfulness. 

This hero worship that Plato praised, recalls again the prominence of 
the beauty principle in the Hellenic mind. Plato saw the image of the god 
in the face of the beloved. It was the reflection of the divine, of the 
eternal beauty, that drew him to his friend. 

Has this old-time chivalry passed away with the rest of Greek life ? 
Have we lost the spirit of this ardent friendship as we have lost the genius 
■of sculpture and poetry that animated the Greeks? Sometimes it seems as 
if the spirit of gain-getting and self-seeking had crowded out the en- 


thusiasm and simplicity of those early days. The pessimist might claim 
that the friendship of Achilles and Patroklus, of Sokrates and Phaedo, had 
utterly departed from our workaday, prosaic life. But there are others who 
would insist that it still lives, in all the sincerity and beauty of its ancient 
fervor. It is a question full of meaning. It is a question between high- 
minded generosity and sympathy with mankind on the one hand, and selfish- 
ness and narrowness of view on the other. For to quote again from the 
great Latin essayist, " We remove the sun from the heavens when we take 
friendship out of life." The relation of the question to our times, we 
ourselves must help determine. 

Margaret Young Henry. 



It was at a minstrel show, given by some young business men. The 
loud bursts of laughter, and a protesting ache in my side, testified to the 
gayety we had reached, when the song, " O, jolly Jenkins !" was announced. 
We drew a long breath, straightened ourselves in our chairs, and waited 
with tense nerves for the next sally of fun. 

Slowly the singer rose from his seat, mechanically he walked toward 
the front of the platform, and with difficulty he made his bow. The pianist 
struck up the gay little tune, which tinkled and trilled to the accompaniment 
of a voice as expressionless, as unearthly, as any I have ever heard. The 
face of the singer was drawn and hard. Beneath the charcoal we could 
imagine a deathly pallor, and under the curled wool locks damp with fever. 
A change came over the house ; unconsciously our faces mirrored the one at 
which we gazed ; an oppressive presence seemed hovering over us. At last 
the song ended, the singer returned to his seat, and the vague impression of 
disaster gave way to vigorous fun. 

In the morning paper of the next day, I read : " Died, suddenly, while 
assisting at an entertainment given by the 'Printer's Union,' Mr. Henry 
Waldo, age twenty-six years." 



Timidly she knelt before the shrine of the bejeweled saint ; tremblingly 
she lighted the waxen taper ; with tight-clasped hands and sobbing voice she 
sought forgiveness. Like one prying unbidden into some secret sin, I stole 
away. But as the door swung back a gust of wind entered, swept angrily 
over the kneeling girl, and, with a hiss of contempt, extinguished the feeble 
candle. I glanced hastily back. Her face was contorted with anguish ; her 
lips despairingly formed the words, " Unforgiven ! unforgiven !" As she 
knelt abjectly there, the gaudy saint seemed to smile upon her with disdain. 


Dim and far-reaching were the arches of the cathedral ; impressive and 
holy the light that streamed through the expanse of stained glass. Over 
all, there seemed to rest the calm of assured faith, the quieting sense of 
nearness to some all-controlling power. Groups of dark-robed priests, of 
gayly clad girls, and of women with load-laden shoulders, streamed down 
the aisle. Each stopped before a quaintly carved shell which sprang from a 
Gothic pillar, reverently dipped their hands into the holy water, and passed 
-on, making the mystic sign. 

Unconsciously, I, too, joined the throng, stooped over the sacred vessel, 
but drew back with a shudder of disgust. It was thickly caked with dirt, 
and from it trailed several long, coarse hairs. 

Caroline W. Jacobus, '95. 


(Tourgenieff's "Diniitri Eudini.") 

A great many clever people have attempted to define Realism. Some 
of them have succeeded, more of them have not ; and the failures of these 
great and wise thinkers warn the humble to avoid such definition. Tour- 
geneifF gives us the keynote to his theories on the subject when he says, 
"The novel must lay aside all hypocrisy, sentimentality, even rhetoric, for 
the simpler yet nobler aim of becoming the history of life." 


He is what he aims to be, — a very true historian of human life. In his 
realism there is neither the repulsive, grossly physical element, which is so 
prominent in the modern French novel, nor that of the commonplace, which 
makes ordinary existence seem prosaic and uninteresting. His work is 
apparently the natural expression of a man whose visual sense is exception- 
ally quick and powerful. The vivid bits of description are never long and 
tedious. He seizes upon the particular quality which is characteristic of an 
object or scene, and produces the desired effect with the conciseness which 
is peculiar to masters in art. He notes with unerring accuracy the separate 
details, but he makes each significant; and so well does he understand the 
mysteries of literary light and shade, that they all come out into perfect 
harmony and proportion. 

" Dimitri Rudini," though one of his shorter works, and not so well 
known as some of the others, is interesting as showing his treatment of 
character. The story takes up a few incidents in the life of one man. The 
whole book is a study of this central figure, and his influence upon the lives 
of those with whom he comes in contact. 

Rudini is a man who began life with more than ordinary talents. He 
is wonderfully appreciative of all that is beautiful. He is keenly sensitive 
to every emotion, has high ideals and aspirations, yet lacks the strength of 
character needed to develop his better nature. His eloquence, strong per- 
sonality, and contagious enthusiasm, win the heart of a charming young 
girl, — Natalie. She is little more than a child, but thoughtful for her age ; 
and in the scene where they meet for the last time after their love has been 
discovered, Rudini's weakness and pitiable lack of any strength of affection 
come out in strong contrast to her true nobility of character and unquestion- 
ing love. After their interview is over, when he has utterly failed to fulfill 
her hopes and expectations, she turns from him, undeceived but heart- 
broken ; and the eyes which would follow the slight, girlish figure of our 
memory picture are very tender, as she fades from sight among the bare, 
gray oaks. 

Natalie's mother is a vain, self-willed woman of the world. She is 
anxious for admiration, and glad to find an intellectual man ready to listen 
to her conversation, but is unwilling to have her daughter think of marrying 


Rudini's old schoolfellow, Leschnieff, has also been fascinated and 
disappointed. Partly through honest conviction, partly through jealousy,, 
he is at first inclined to judge Rudini harshly. Later, when he has been 
mellowed by a happy home life, and Rudini has fallen from one disgrace 
into another, until the proud, brilliant man is hardly recognizable in that 
bent, travel-worn figui'e crouching in the corner of a peasant's wagon, then 
Leschnieff takes a more generous view of his friend's character. One of the 
most touching scenes in the book is that where the old comrades resume the 
expressive "thou," while the one listens as the other recounts his pathetic 

Rudini cannot be called a hero in the ordinary sense of the word, for 
he is chiefly conspicuous as a failure : the man who might have done so- 
much, and yet does so little ; who is a constant pain and disappointment to 
his friends, though all the time keenly sensitive to his own shortcomings. 
The impression of his real character is not gained at once. We are given 
no hints nor side views which reveal the private opinion of the author. 
Our judgment must be made as in real life, by listening to his conversation, 
by observing his treatment of those around him, and by watching the effect 
of the small happenings of every day. In the fact that the reader becomes 
completely absorbed in the atmosphere of the book, lies a great charm of 
TourgeniefPs realism. Even in the exquisite beauty of the nature descrip- 
tions, one feels most strongly the inner meaning which the leaves and the 
sky have for Natalie or her lover. For this reason does a novel with so 
comparatively little incident hold the interest of the reader, who finds his 
curiosity roused in no ordinary way, and whose insight into human nature 
is often completely baffled. 

Despite the fact that Tourgenieff hides himself so completely, one can 
detect his tender sympathy for human joy or sorrow, his sweet, poetic rev- 
erence for woman. Only Mrs. Grand, nowadays, believes that a moral can 
adorn a tale; but when we are made to feel a real pity for Rudini, Tour- 
genieff seems to slyly recommend to our mercy those whom it is so easy to 
condemn, — the men who excite our envy by their brilliancy, and who 
cruelly wound by want of heart and inconsistency. 

Some one has very aptly called Tourgenieff a Corot in letters. He uses 
the same indefinable half tints. He interprets the most delicate shades of 


feeling in words as Corot does in color ; and if over his completed picture 
is cast an atmosphere of melancholy, we must remember that the most 
thoughtful observers of human life cannot be light-hearted. 

L. M. '95. 


As friend to friend his inner life reveals, 

And dwells with glad contentment by his side, 
And yet his soul within him silent seals, 

That gentlest spirit entrance is denied, 
So is it with the weary, restless tide, 

Which daily doth the friendly shore embrace, 
And whispereth ever of its wanderings wide; 

Yet of its wondrous meaning leaves no trace, — 

In all the sad, bright world, it hath no resting-place. 

Josephine Batchelder, '96. 


"Well, Mis' Akers, I never was one o' them howlin' women's rights 
females, nor ain't yet ; but I declare I'm ready now to put in my ballot the 
first chance I get. I've read, an' I heard that young up-country lawyer who 
was runnin' for the assembly say, ' Woman is the power behind the throne.' 
So this election, thinks I, ' I'll jest turn on the power an' see how it works.' 
You see, that Mis' Meeks down to the Corner had bin talkin' to me 'bout the 
evils of the liquor traffic an' 'bout usin' my influence, till I says to myself, 
' Patience Ann Lovejoy, there shan't be no drinkin' in this town if you kin 
help it ! ' 

" So one evenin' when I see Cyrus was feelin' pretty good, I begun on 
him, an' talked, an' talked, usin' all of Mis' Meeks's arguments an' all o' my 
own. Now Cyrus aint no drinkin' man, an' I thought I'd have an easy job 
of it. But after I'd talked till I was clean talked out, he jest looked at me 
kinder superior, an' says he : — 

" 'What does women know about questions of politics and commerce ! 
Patience Ann, you'd better set the bread, now.' 

" I wasn't goin' to give up, an' I talked to that man every day till election 
time ; an' election night he come home smilin' to himself, an' says he : — 

" ' Patience Ann, I voted for license.' 


" Nobody need talk to nie anymore about woman's influence, an' all that 
highfalutin' nonsense. I want a chance to speak my own mind, when I've 
got one to speak ! " 

' ' Well ! well ! Mis' Lovejoy , I know jest how you feel. I've been 
through it. Men is jest that pig-headed, the more you reason with 'em the 
more sot they get, for all the world like a balky mule ; but there's more 
ways of persuadin' than by talkin'. Now, this 'lection my John voted no 
license. I began jest like you, Mis' Lovejoy; an' I talked myself black in 
the face, an' John would jest put on his hat an' go down to the store. At 
last I says : — 

" 'John, are you a patron an' friend o' these grogshops, that you set 
such store by 'em ? ' 

" That made him mad, and he answered : — 

" 'That jest shows your woman's want o' sense. There aint no " grog- 
shops " in the town ; an' if the stills was all shut down, what would I do with 
my apples? No, sir! Since the Lord made apples, he must have intended 
us to have apple-jack. That's what apples grows for ! ' 

"Jest then an idee come to me. John is powerful fond o' my apple pie, 
an' we always have it right along while apples last. But the next day there 
wasn't any pie, nor the next. John didn't say nothin' at first, thinkin' I was 
too busy, maybe, to bake. But the next day he began : — 

' ' ' Sary, where's the pie ? ' 

" ' Oh ! ' says I, ' there aint none.' 

" 'Why not?' says he. ' Anything the matter with the oven? I'll fix 
it this afternoon.' 

'"No ! " says I, ' there aint nothin' the matter with the oven ; but there 
is with the apples. I'm savin' those apples for the use the Lord intended them 
for, — to make apple-jack. I'm not goin'to go against Providence an' the law. 
You may have your distilleries, or you may have apple pie, but not both ! ' 

"He didn't say nothin'. An' so it went on for a week, with no pie, for 
punkins an' mince-meat wasn't in season yet ; an' I began to hanker myself 
for a good wedge o' pie. At last one day after dinner John says, sort of 
shamedlike, playin' with his knife : — 

' ' ' Sary, guess the Lord intended apples for apple pies ; an' I'm ready to 

vote no license.' " 

Emilv Budd Shultz, '94. 



Somewhere we have read that in America everyone gets a mouthful of 
education, but scarcely anyone a full meal. If this be even conditionally 
true, what is the reason for it? There seems to be an abundance of "intel- 
lectual food" offered to all who seek it. Why, then, should we — why should 
any student — go mentally hungry ? 

Among suggestions in answer to the question this one stands out dis- 
tinctly : perhaps the trouble is not so much that we do not get enough, as 
that we do not assimilate what we do get. To rush through one "ology" 
after another, retaining only a smattering of each, is to throw away the 
kernel for the husk ; yet we do this year after year, and still wonder that 
our brains are not satisfied. Education is not action alone ; it is growth, and 
growth demands nourishment. Forgetting the differences between doing and 
growing, we think that we are becoming educated if every day we faithfully 
cram our minds with facts, to such good effect that we remain free from 
"conditions." This process, however, really plays but a small part in the 
making of a genuine scholar, while it gives absolutely no promise of after 
helpfulness to mankind, — the one object which should influence us in 
all our study. So, since the busiest people often expend their lives in 
ways that add nothing to the sum of human knowledge and happiness, it 
is well for us to realize that we are not always working best when we are 
working hardest. 

Indeed, perhaps this is the chief mistake that we Wellesley girls make : 
we let an outward show of mere activity take the place of that inner 
tiefsinnigkeit which is of far greater worth. We have so much prescribed 
work to do, so many appointments to meet, there is neither leisure nor 
inclination left for other things. And so we fall into a mechanical habit of 
studying to meet requirements alone, until at length we find that the power 
of individual thought and expression has fallen asleep or forsaken us 


Granting the protest that ' ' we haven't time to do more than prepare our 
lessons," may it not be largely our own fault? Would it not be better to 
spend our few spare moments upon the subjects which kindle our enthusiasm, 
rather than upon perfecting already passable preparation for recitations in 
branches that interest us less? Do we not let the fear of being obliged to 
say "I don't know," make slaves of us? Then, too, do we not, through lack 
of application, sometimes spend more time than is necessary upon learning a 
lesson? The benefit we receive from our colleo-iate training will be deter- 
mined quite as much by how we study, as by what we study. 

It is possible that in a search for surface details, the grand principles 
beneath may be overlooked. So, too, it is just possible that an over-exact 
student may fall short of being scholarly ; for scholarship implies culture, 
and culture "consists in becoming- somethino- rather than in havino- some- 
thing." Toward this culture, this real scholarship, our college work should 
tend. As loyal daughters of Wellesley, our purpose is to take a useful, 
liberal, and intelligent place in the world outside. Let us, then, be very 
careful while here, not to allow our many duties to crowd out that " divine 
curiosity" which should inspire our lives. Let us even take time from our 
text-books, if need be, for that occasional solitude which is essential to intel- 
lectual and spiritual advancement. 

College itself is, we admit, our present concern, and there will be room 
for other interests later. Yet while we would not underestimate the value 
of the thorough instruction and other countless advantages we enjoy in 
Wellesley, we would plead for the broadest use of these opportunities. The 
girl who, feeling that she owes something to herself as well as to her teachers, 
apportions her college days with a wise regard for both physical health and 
mental development, is the girl who has an assurance of a successful future. 
For, after all, our study now is but a beginning of that larger education which 
is to work itself out through the " three score years and ten." 


As the gentle Christmastide approaches, filling our hearts with love and 
good will toward all mankind, and toward our immediate associates in partic- 
ular, the feeling of the editorial board for our dear Wellesley girls is espe- 
cially warm and tender. Wishing to make known this altruistic emotion, it 


has occurred to us that the most graceful manner of expression will he to point 
out to the busy or the thoughtless the glorious opportunities which many are 
inclined to overlook. No feature of college work offers more lasting or 
more encouraging results than honest literary effort ; and yet, the girl who 
will spend long hours in the gymnasium, training for the crew ; who will 
smother all compunctions about appearing in public in bloomers, for the sake 
of playing basket ball, or learning to ride a wheel, — cannot give one half day 
to careful, earnest work, that she may prepare a good article for the Maga- 
zine ; and she will not contribute something already written, lest it may, 
perchance, be rejected. 

Nothing can be a greater stimulus to literary work than to have one's 
name appear in print. Who knows, until she has tried repeatedly, what 
promising talent may be hidden away in embryonic condition ? The field, 
certainly, is a large one. Material of all kinds is needed, — critical work, 
fiction, verse ; and it cannot be possible that Wellesley girls are less gifted 
than those from sister colleges. 

It is a pathetic truth, that a certain number of contributions cannot be 
required for election to the Magazine Board, lest that august body be 
included under the category of "The Noble Dead." Not even the thought 
of pecuniary compensation serves to break the modest silence of our college 
mates. We can only hope that our generous spirit may be contagious ; and 
that in return for these valuable hints the editor's box will fairly bulge with 
gifts of the longed-for prose and verse. 

' ' O for an idea, for some freshness of view ! " sighs a devotee of 
English V. To a careless hearer it seems absurd that a woman engrossed in 
studies kindling to the imagination, fertile in thought, should be incapable 
of producing daily one short, original theme. But this is, indeed, the case. 
Our thoughts run in narrow grooves. In the earnest quest after statistics, 
fancy is deadened ; in the retailing of hard facts, all beauty is lost. We 
have become ' ' blind to the bloom of the heather," deaf to the music of 
winds. The tragedies and the comedies of life are enacted before us, but we 
pass heedlessly by, intent only upon inking our drawings, anxious only to 
board that elusive elevator. 


Let us broaden our vision, widen our sympathies. Then we will lose 
our proneness to remark that "life is a grind"; instead, it will seem a 
glorious opportunity, palpitating with interest, tense with ennobling 


The Free Press of last month contained an article upon the College 
lunch. How matters stood several years ago I cannot say, but I wish, as 
one who has lunched for two years in the college dining room, to voice the 
protest of those who feel that as a picture of the present, the description is 
distinctly overdrawn. From the very informality of the system by which 
the tables are set for a certain number, and a girl may come at any time 
during the lunch hour, it is inevitable that a late comer should be at a 
disadvantage, should not find an attractive table. She is, however, able 
always to obtain a sufficient supply. As to this system, if the question of 
making our midday meal a formal one were to be put to vote, I think the 
result would show that, in spite of its disadvantages, our informal lunch is 

The criticisms, also, upon the conduct of the students are decidedly 
unjust; for although one may see some exhibitions of selfishness, as is 
inevitable among so large a number, yet one meets just as often instances 
of quiet thoughtfulness and of care for the comfort of others. Studying in 
the dining room I do not remember ever to have seen. 

On the whole, although our lunch is informal and is often hurried, 
it does not by any means deserve wholesale denunciation ; on the other 
hand, through the lunch clubs it brings together groups of congenial Mends, 
and often becomes one of the pleasantest hours in the day. 



The refrain of one of the Ninety-four float songs rings in our ears with 
pathos unutterable, and those who were only amused would far better look 
deeper, and find therein food for thought : — 

" No quorum, no quorum, but still 
There may be one later, you know." 


To many of us the matter of our class organization at Wellesley is 
growing to be a serious question. Perhaps we plan to prepare two recita- 
tions in an evening ; the blackboard refers us to our bulletin, and we are 
dismayed to find that a class meeting has been appointed for the same 
evening. In despair we protest that we cannot go ; but a vision of our 
president spending her hours in weary waiting, and our factotums searching 
halls, libraries, rooms, imploring girls to come and attend to their own 
affairs, awakens our compassion, and we heroically resolve either to brave 
the teacher's displeasure at our feeble "not prepared," or to set our alarm 
clocks at an unconscionably small figure. We go, spend the greater part 
of the evening waiting for recruits, congratulate ourselves if the number 
present is large enough to transact any but minor business, and return to 
our respective homes with bodies fatigued and tempers ruined, heaping 
imprecations on classmates not equally alive to their class duties, and above 
all on class organization. 

Some organization seems to be a necessity, but must future classes 
groan under the complex system which burdens us? For this evil three 
remedies suggest themselves. By all means let the quorum be very con- 
siderably reduced. It may be urged that the will of a small quorum is not 
the general will of the class, but a small quorum does not at all restrict the 
number of those at perfect liberty to come to class meeting and exercise 
their privileges of free expression of opinion and voting. 

There are students who, for various reasons, desire to take no active part 
in the life of the class with which they chance to enter. Yet, under the 
present system, they must be enrolled on the class list, and swell the 
number necessary to constitute a quorum. What objection is there to 
voluntary membership in class organization, with the privilege of resig- 
nation? The point is raised that the burden of class expenses would 
then fall on the few ; but it must be remembered that contributions 
to the class treasury are entirely voluntary. We are likely to forget 
this when the stern agent of the class treasurer comes to us on her 
collecting tour, but the fact remains that we are not obliged to give 
one penny. Even if a student preferred not to share in the control 
of the class organization, she would probably not be debarred from the 
privilege of adding her mite to help her class make a creditable showing 
before the College. 


It is noticeable that class work done by committees appointed by the 
chair seldom fails to give complete satisfaction. Why not employ more than 
we do this useful method of accomplishing the large part of our business? 
The responsibility of the president would be increased, but it is doubtful if 
this addition to her duties would worry her one half as much as the sacrifice 
of long evenings of search for a quorum supposed to relieve her of this 
weight. There would be little or no gain if such committees were obliged 
to report to the class for action upon their work. From our past experience 
most of us would feel not the slightest hesitation in giving full power to 
committees appointed by the chair. Surely we would willingly give up oc- 
casionally our individual expression of will in class matters, if we could 
conscientiously remain undisturbed by calls to class meetings too frequent to 
arouse enthusiasm. 

F. T. F., '95. 


Personally one Senior agrees with the general sentiment of the student 
who is "not a Freshman," in regard to elevator etiquette. It is anno} T ing to 
an underclass girl who has been crowded out of the elevator once, to see her 
place again taken by a "black-gowned fortunate." But, may the writer ask, 
• how often does this happen? If one watches, one will notice that it is very 
seldom that ' ' twelve black-gowned fortunates " are waiting to take the eleva- 
tor at the same time. Also, the writer has carefully watched, this year, in 
regard to this point of elevator etiquette, and has had it forced upon her that 
the Seniors were considerate. Many a time has she seen the Seniors stand 
back to let the girls in who came first to the elevator ; and she has also seen 
these Seniors fall back to make way for underclass girls who are, it is true, 
late arrivals at the elevator, but who are possessed of most excellent ' ' push- 
ing" abilities. It is true that she may be accused of partiality, but other 
persons who are ably fitted to judge have noticed and spoken of this same 
thing. If the writer of the article in the November number of the Magazine 
will think of the Seniors of the past few years, — if she has been here re- 
cently enough to judge, — methinks she must admit that this year's Seniors 
are not inconsiderate. 


By all means let us, as students, try to find some remedy for this 
elevator nuisance ; but in our zeal for the cause, do not let us condemn 
any class because, theoretically, it is supposed to approve and uphold 

the nuisance. 

F. E. H., '95. 


Perhaps our dearest possession as college girls is time. And perhaps 
there is nothing which makes us more tired and discouraged than to have that 
time wasted in hunting for a book in the library, — a book which nobody 
has ( ?) , nobody has seen, and nobody knows anything about, but six or 
eight girls want. The library catalogue states that it belongs to the library 
collection ; the librarian says no record is made of its removal from the 
library. But where is it ? Nobody but a genius can tell, for it may be nicely 
hidden under some girl's books while she reads another, which is also waited 
for by a score of girls. It may not be under her books, but under herself, 
or it may be tucked away in some unused drawer. I know of one which was 
unearthed from one of the dark alcoves. A book belonging there had been 
removed to the return table, and this much-wanted volume was reposing in 
its place until the girl who placed it there should return from an hour's recess. 
How well that book had been fulfilling its mission ! 

Again, the book may not be out of sight. It may lie on the table, but 
on top of its open pages are a notebook and a pencil, signifying, no doubt, 
that some one is using it, and will be back in half. a minute. You wait five, 
ten, fifteen, twenty minutes for the girl to come, so that you may see how 
long she is going to use the book. You finally remove notebook and 
pencil, only to hear half an hour later, "I think it's just as mean as 
anything ; somebody's taken my book." Yes ; but who has wasted time for 
several girls? 

Can't we, as individual women, by having more care and thoughtfulness 
for others, put an end to such annoyances without waiting for some higher 
authority to interfere? The unavoidable friction in the library is as much 
strain as most people can stand. Let us not, then, by our selfishness or care- 
lessness, increase other people's cares nor waste their time. 

C, '97. 



A man once said to me : ' 'Why do we never hear of the friendships of 
women ? From past ages stories of man's devotion to man come down to us, 
but where do we read of woman's lasting devotion to woman?" 

" The Princess Anne and the Duchess of Marlborough," said I. 

"Did that last?" sternly demanded my questioner. " You cannot show 
me a David and Jonathan friendship, a Py lades and Orestes friendship, in all 
the annals of your sex." 

" Our sex has not been properly represented in history," I retorted, 
"for, until recently, the histories have been written solely by men. But 
now, to-day, putting ancient history out of the question, I can show you any 
number of David and Jonathan friendships." 

" Where?" demanded the man, incredulously. 

"In college," I proudly replied. 

I believed it then. I was a Freshman. Now, with wider experience, I 
must ask : Is it true ? Are our college friendships true and lasting ? Are 
they based upon the right principle of giving and receiving? Are they 
sincere, deeply loving and generous ? or will they flicker and go out like a 
candle at a breath of opposition ? 

Most of us will agree with Philip Gilbert Hamerton, when he affirms 
that the strongest reason why human beings are drawn together "is not 
identity of class, not identity of race, not a common interest in any particular 
art or science, but because there is something in their idiosyncrasies that gives 
a charm to intercourse between the two." And this general law applies as 
truly to this small, intellectual college world of ours, as to the great composite 
outside world, and our friendships here are formed upon precisely the same 
basis. But there is a difference. Our college world is composed of women, 
and of many women ; our interests are common and absorbing, and there is 
great freedom of intercourse. These three differences are, at the same time, 
three reasons why friendships should be closer and more lasting. Among 
the numbers there is great opportunity for choice of friends. The common 
interest in vital questions means more than an interest in servants, gowns, 
and social functions, and ought to be more unselfish; and the freedom of 
intercourse brings with it the privilege of knowing one's friend more intimately, 


and sympathizing with her more fully than would be possible under other 

But great dangers beset college friendships, and the first and greatest is 
sentimentality, the silly playing at devotion, which will probably end with a 
disagreement and be remembered with regret. We forget that true friend- 
ship means true, steady, calm, generous love, that gives of its best to the 
friend who returns in like measure. There is the danger, too, of insincerity — 
of showing more or less than one really feels — and of fickleness. We can say 
of the friendship that comes to an end, what the German poet said of love, — 

"Die war's nicht, der's geschah." 

The answer to our question is evident : College friendships ought to be 
true and enduring, and it is our own fault if they are not. 


Though the Exchange table this last month has been piled high with 
college magazines, most attractive in appearance, and brimming with interest, 
we shall have space to make mention of but very few. 

In glancing over the various periodicals the bright color of ' ' The Red 
and Blue" catches the eye, and reminds one of that excellent paper on 
Robert Schumann, which is among the best of the more substantial articles 
of this month. It is not without a feeling of relief that the editor notes the 
marked absence of class-room essays upon well-worn literary questions, 
such as only Walter Pater or Matthew Arnold could handle successfully. 
We are not even given an interpretation of Browning, or Shelley, or Keats, 
but read, instead, most instructive treatises upon ' ' Dangers to Government 
from Legislative Assemblies," in the Yale Lit., or "The American, Mediter- 
ranean, and Interoceanic Canal," in the Vassar Miscellany. A number of 
magazine contributors have added their sketches to the large number of 
those dedicated to the memory of Oliver Wendell Holmes. The best article 
of this kind is in the Yale Lit. 

The story-telling muse has apparently dropped into dialect. Though she 
does not indulge in thrilling romance nor in impossible realism, the new 
speech is well suited to such tales as " The Old Order Changeth, " in the 


Smith Magazine, or. "An Unanswered Question," in the Vassar Miscellany. 
Other fiction does not quite uphold the usual standard, either in quantity or 
in quality, though mention should be made of "Nifty Flynn," in the Yale 
Lit., and "Carl," in the Brown Magazine. Perhaps this lack is counter- 
balanced by the number of graceful verses from which we clip the following : — 


Illumined wood, thy sweet, sad' cheer 
Is like the look of one who is bereft 
Of all that gives life worth, 
Yet smiles thro' grief, 
And with brave showing puts on mirth. 
Gone is the summer of thy year, 
And to thy yearning forest heart is left 
But wintry loneliness. 

Each falling leaf 
Wakes whisper in thee, "One joy less ! " 
Wakes memory, how joy was sweet! 
Yet here beneath gray skies I see thee meet 
Autumnal sadness with such bright, brave ways, 
Thy sorrow goes unguessed by careless eyes. 

Oh, not in vain 
Did' st thou store sunshine thro' the golden days! 

Of those spun rays 
Thou weavest now a mantle for thy pain. 

— Vassar Miscellany. 


. Where the were-wolf howls to the storm-king's wrath, 
And the gray sea lashes its angry mane, 
This prow has sped o'er a perilous path, 
That few may follow and live again. 

By the ice-walls guarding the northern seas, 

Where the white bear reigns o'er his floes alone, 
We steered, in the teeth of the northern breeze, 

Straight on to the were-witch throne. 

Our prayer is the song of the whistling gale. 

Our laughter the shriek of the northern blast. 
The sea our goddess — she will not fail 

To welcome us home at last. 

— Tale Literary Magazine. 



I stand in the gleam of the western light 

On the shell-strewn sand of the sea; 
And the waves, as they murmur their changing song, 

Dimple and laugh at me. 
But I know that beneath the laughter gay 
Is a solemn strain, which they keep alway. 

And I listen, and try to catch the words, 

Or to guess what the thought may be, 
But the rippling laugh, with its care-free sound, 

Conceals the truth from me. 
And all I gain from the futile quest 
Is a nameless grief and a vague unrest. 

— Cornell Era. 


If I but knew why in her eyes 
Float all the blue Italian skies; 
Why in her dreaming, dancing smile 
Lurks every trick of cupid's wile, 

And sprightly mischief too; 
Why such ecstatic thrills when lips 
But touch her dainty finger tips ; 
Why in her wavy, golden hair 
My heart has found a perfect snare, — 

Ah, me, if I but knew ! 

I would I knew if all this wealth 
Of goodness, truth, and better self 
Can always be beside my life, 
Endure through storm and bitter strife, 

And never change its show? 
And whether such great happiness 
May always stay my life to bless ; 
Or if 'tis but to linger here, 
A dream unreal, for one short year, 

And then forever go? 

If I but knew the subtle deeps 
Of love within her soul, that keeps 
My life in peace and quiet mien 
Beside her restful self serene, 
Like sunset's afterglow! 


But thou, my love, hast soul so deep, 
Such untold graces in it keep, 
That should my life a thousand be, 
And every day be lived with thee, 
I yet could never know. 

— The Brown Magazine. 

The raptures over the glory and suggestiveness of Autumn have given 
place to an enthusiasm quite as effusive, if less poetic, over that most engag- 
ing topic, football. The editorial columns and college notes have been filled 
with anxious prognostications or encouraging reports ; even the ' ' sister 
editors " show a maidenly interest in the coming contests, and one can see 
them, in imagination, decorated with fluttering ribbons of crimson, and 
orange, and blue. 


The past month ,has been a busy and an important one for the three 
upper classes. Their officers for the coming year are, at last, elected, and 
a brief respite in the matter of class meetings is expected. 

The officers of the Senior Class are : president, Helen M. Kelsey ; vice 
president, Helen James ; recording secretary, Flora Krutn ; corresponding 
secretary, Bertha Morrill ; treasurer, Gertrude Barker ; historians, Caroline 
Jacobus, Elizabeth Waite ; factotums, Alice Norcross, Grace Woodin ; exec- 
utive committee, Katharine Fackenthal, Charlotte Goodrich, Mabel Davison. 

The officers of the Junior Class are : president, Elva Young ; vice 
president, Emily Brown ; recording secretary, Mary Dartt ; corresponding 
secretary, Grace Godfrey ; treasurer, Anna Witherle ; historians, Agnes 
Caldwell, Jennie Duxbury ; factotums, Belinda Bogardus, Cora Stoddard ; 
executive committee, Edith Butler, Mary Montgomery, Annie Peaks. 

The Sophomore Class elected the following officers : president, Edith 
Ladd ; vice president, Edith HoAvland ; recording secretary, Bessie Gates ; 
corresponding secretary, Effie Work ; treasurer, Anne L. Bixby ; historians, 
Emily L. Johnson, Edith May ; executive committee, Grace Dennison, Elfie 
Graff, Grace Edgett. 


On Monday evening, November 5, Mr. Carl Faelten gave a piano 
recital. His rendering of one of Beethoven's sonatas was especially de- 

A rally was held in the gymnasium, on the evening of November 7, 
to celebrate the downfall of Tammany. Patriotic songs were song by the 
Glee Club, and enthusiastic speeches were made by Democrats and Republi- 
cans alike. 

The second in the series of Saturday afternoon readings for the History 
and Literature departments was given by Mrs. Kate Douglas Wiggin, on the 
afternoon of November 10. At Mrs. Wiggin 's request all members of 
the College were included in the invitation, and the chapel was filled some 
time before the appointed hour, so that many were obliged to stand. Mrs. 
Wiggin first read from "Timothy's Quest," which, it is safe to say, was 
already well known by most of those who listened. Another selection was 
from " A Village Stradivarius," a story which is yet to appear in the Atlantic 
Monthly. At the end of the reading the enthusiasm of the students was 
apparent in the hearty manner in. which the college cheer was given three 
times for the reader. In the evening the students of History and Literature 
were invited by the members of these departments to meet Mrs. Wiggin in 
the Faculty Parlor. The Grlee Club sang several times during the reception. 
Toward the end of the evening Mrs. Wiggin delighted all present by 
reading the " Puggles' Dinner Party," from the " Birds' Christmas Carol." 

On the evening of November 10 the Sophomore Class had its social, 
whose principal feature was the presentation of the history, in which many 
Arabian Nights' characters figured. 

Monday evening, November 12, an interesting lecture on Hampton 
Institute, illustrated by unusually fine stereopticon views, was delivered by 
H. B. Frissell, the principal of the institute. Added interest was given to 
the lecture by the singing of a quartette of Hampton students. 

On the afternoon of Saturday, November 17, Prof. Mary Alice Knox gave 
a lecture on the Japanese. This lecture was the third in the series of Satur- 
day afternoon readings and lectures, and the first of two lectures which Miss 


Knox is to give in preparation for a lecture on the Corean war, to be- 
delivered by her brother, the Eev. George Knox. 

The Committee on Graduate Instruction received the graduate students 
in the Faculty Parlor, Saturday evening, November 17. 

On Monday evening, November 19, the members of the College and 
their friends enjoyed a concert of chamber music by Miss Minnie A. Stowell 
and the Kuntz String Quartette. 

On Monday evening, November 19, and Tuesday afternoon, November 
20, through the kindness of Major Pond, who sent tickets, many students 
attended the readings of A. Conan Doyle, in Boston. 

On Thursday evening, November 22, the students were invited by 
Colonel Clarke, Secretary of the Home Market Club, to listen to the 
speeches of ex-Speaker Reed, Governor Greenhalge, and Senator Hoar, 
which followed the annual banquet of the Club, held in Mechanics Hall, 
Boston. About seventy students availed themselves of this opportunity. 

On Thursday evening, November 22, the place of the usual prayer meet- 
ing was taken by a lecture given by President Frost, of Berea College, 
Berea, Ky., on the subject of Education in the Appalachian region of 

The Beethoven Society has lately elected its officers for the year. 
Miss Ledyard, who was elected as president last May, resigned her office, 
and Miss Mary Adams was chosen to fill her place. The remaining officers 
are as follows : vice president, Miss Lola Chapman ; recording secretary, Miss 
Bessie Pierce ; corresponding secretary, Miss Margesson ; treasurer, Miss 
Ethel Howard ; factotums, Miss Florence Spring and Miss Helen Bisbee. 

On Saturday afternoon, November 24, Professor Knox gave a lecture on the 

Many of the students attended the Harvard- Yale football game in 
Springfield, Saturday afternoon, November 24, while those unable to 
witness the contest showed their interest by wearing the color of the college 
which they favored. 



On Monday evening, November 26, Rev. George Knox delivered a 
lecture on the war in Corea between the Japanese and Chinese. Miss Knox's 
lectures on the two nations engaged in the struggle served as an introduction 
to this lecture, and led to a better understanding of it. Mr. Knox's lecture 
was very interesting and instructive, and those who listened to it will now 
follow with added interest and clearer understanding the events and results 
of the war. 

Many students left college on Wednesday to spend the Thanksgiving 
recess with relatives or friends. 


The regular programme meeting of the Agora was held November 17. 
Miss Alice Howe, '95, was received into the society. The programme of 
the evening was as follows : — 
Impromptu Speeches. 

The Amended Constitution of the State of 
New York ...... 

The Attempts to Conclude the China-Japanese 


The Situation in Madagascar 

Elizabeth Ziegler. 

Mary D. Prior. 
Mary Young. 

The year's study of city problems was begun by three discussions : — 
Nominations, Qualifications, and Elections of 

City Officials Helena De Cou. 

City Officials and their Duties . . Katharine Fackenthal. 

Protection of City Property . . . Helen Bisbee. 

The regular programme meeting of Tau Zeta Epsilon was held Saturday 
evening, October 27, in Tau Zeta Epsilon Hall. The subject of the meet- 
ing was Nuremberg. The following programme was given : — 

A Walk Through Nuremberg . . . Mary Lunt. 

Lucy Willcox. 

Albrecht Diirer .... 

Hans Sachs .... 

Reading : Nuremberg, by Longfellow 

Alice Norcross. 
Charlotte Goodrich. 

Margaret Starr. 



A meeting of Tau Zeta Epsilon was held Saturday, November 16. 
Miss Edith . Butler, '96, was received into the society. The subject for the 
evening was Dresden. The programme was : — 

Scenes from Dresden Life .... May Kellogg. 

Art Treasures of Dresden 
The Court of Saxony 
Heinrich Hoffmann 
Dresden China 

Miss E. M. Clark. 

Alberta Welch. 

Edith Sawyer. 

Grace Dennison. 

The regular programme meeting of the Classical Society was held Sat- 
urday, November 17. The subject of the meeting was Herodotus. The 
following programme was given : — 

The Life of Herodotus .... 

Knowledge of Geography previous to his Time 

Grace Townsend. 
Mary Chapin. 

Divisions of the World according to Herodotus 

Selection (Book I., 114-116) : The Boy Cy- 
rus : how his Royal Blood was Discovered 

Selection (Book II., 113-120) : Herodotus' 
Opinion about the Story of Helen . 

Selection (in original Book IV., 49-51) : The 
Shrewd Advice of a Child 

Margaret Simmons. 

Edith Dexter. 

Ida Brooks. 

Nellie Stimpson. 

The Programme meeting of Phi Sigma was held Saturday evening, No- 
vember 17. The Romantic Short Story was the subject for the evening. 
The Romantic Spirit ..... Mabel Davison. 

The Weird and Grotesque in the Romantic 

Short Story ..... May Cannon. 

Music ....... Clara Shaw. 

Comparison of Stevenson and Kipling . . Theresa Huntington. 
A Study in Gautier ..... Alice Schouler. 

Misses Stanwood and Longley, '94, were present at the meeting. 

The regular meeting of Zeta Alpha was held Saturday evening, Novem- 
ber 10. The programme was as follows : — 

The Socialistic Movement in Germany under 

Lassalle .... 
Progress of the Movement in France 

Helen Dennis. 
Augusta Blan chard. 


Karl Marx, the Father of Socialism, and his 

"Work in England , . . . . Edith L. R. Jones. 
Helen Drake, Gertrude Angell, and Marion Wilcox were present at the 

On Friday, November 9, Miss Angell, Miss Conyngton, Miss Drake, 
and Miss Wood entertained the society in Society Hall. 


Monday, December 17. — Concert. 

Wednesday, December 19. — College closes. 

Thursday, January 10. — Term opens. 

Saturday, January 19. — Examinations begin. 

Monday, January 21. — Concert. 

Sunday, January 27. — Rev. S. R. Fuller, of Maiden, preaches. 

Thursday, January 31. — Day of Prayer for Colleges. 


It would be a pity if one who has given so much of her time and 
strength to literary work as Miss Mary Winston, '89, should have no oppor- 
tunity to have her work represented. We take pleasure in adding to her 
article in the November Magazine, " Literary Alumnae of Wellesley," some 
account of her brave fight in the literary field. 

When still in college Miss Winston wrote short stories for The May- 
flower, a children's paper. The first year after leaving college one of her 
stories appeared in The Youth's Companion, and she became a regular con- 
tributor to The Springfield Sunday Republican, and to a weekly paper, 
Every Thursday, published by Dr. Charles S. Robinson. With this start 
Miss Winston, as she herself says, has "written for the very little folks, and 
for the big folks, and for the young folks who are neither big nor little, but 
come in between. I have published short stories, serial stories, verses, 
articles on literary and general subjects." She has worked on a Boston daily 
newspaper, and contributes regularly to Our Sunday Afternoon and Every 
Other Sunday, both of Boston. Miss Winston contributed to The Dolls' 


Dressmaker, now out of print, and wrote a comedy, entitled, ' ' A Eural 
Ruse," published by Walter H. Baker & Co., which has been acted a good 
deal in different places. Miss Winston considers her best works a serial 
story, "Little Don Rodrigo De Remas," published in Harper's Young 
People, and a story, " Babette," in the St. Nicholas. Other stories for 
young people have appeared in Worthington Illustrated Magazine, Golden 
Rule, Christian at Work, and Watchman. For very little ones Miss 
Winston has published in Babyland, Our Little Men and Women, Our 
Little Ones, and Home and School Visitor. Her work for older readers 
has been in Yankee Blade, Household, Storiettes, Donahoe's Magazine, and 
The New England Magazine. Miss Winston's first verses are entitled 
" The Fairy Cradle," which we append : — 

Who rocks the New Moon cradlekin, 

And tucks the fairy babies in ? 

Oh, the gay young stars, with a golden line, 

Swing the New Moon cradle the while they shine ! 

And the Lady Wind, with a coverlet blue, 

Folds the wee fairies in out of the dew. 

— Babyland. 

At the November meeting of the Board of Trustees of Wellesley College, 
the names of the nominees of the Alumnas Association for membership on 
the Board were presented, and the nominations were confirmed by the 
Board. The new Alumnfe trustees are: Mrs. Louise McCoy North, '79, for 
the term of six years ; Miss Estelle May Hurll, '82, for the term of four 
years ; Mrs. Adaline Emerson Thompson, '80, for the term of two years. 
The January number of the Magazine will contain a further account of these 

The Wellesley Club of New York held its first meeting for the season 
at the residence of Mrs. W. L. Herney, The Monterey, Manhattan Avenue, 
on Saturday, November 3. A goodly number were present, and the after- 
noon proved very enjoyable. 

Owing to the resignation of Miss Can dace Stimson, a ballot was taken, 
resulting in the election of Miss Grace Andrews as Chairman of the 
Reception Committee for the ensuing year. 



The other officers for the year, as chosen last April, are as follows : 
president, Mrs. Anna Philips See ; vice president, Mrs. Christabel Lee 
Saffbrd ; treasurer, Miss Dorothy Lees Dole ; secretary, Miss Bertha 
Bailey ; executive committee, Mrs. Bessie Vail Billings, Mrs. Elizabeth 
Strong Raven, Miss Sarah H. Groff. 

Plans of work for the coming year were discussed, and a committee 
was appointed to formulate some definite proposals to put before the Club 
at its next meeting. A committee was appointed to revise the membership 
lists of the Club. 

The next meeting of the Club will be held at the residence of Dr. Emma 
Willcox, 226 West 104th Street, New York, on Saturday, December 15. 
Any friends from Wellesley, who may be in or near New York at that time, 
will be most cordially welcomed. It is earnestly hoped that any Wellesley 
girls in the vicinity of New York who have not yet connected themselves 
with the Club, will send their names and addresses to the Secretary, Bertha 
Bailey, The Castle, New Rochelle, N. Y. 

Under the auspices of the Committee on Graduate Work, a reception 
was given to the resident graduate students to meet the professors and 
instructors, on the evening of November 17, in the Horsford Parlor. 
Besides representatives of other colleges, there are in the graduate depart- 
ment eighteen Wellesley Alumna? . On this occasion, also, all in the neigh- 
borhood who have taken the M.A. degree from Wellesley were invited. 
No formal literary programme was given, but opportunity was afforded 
for the graduate students to find each other out, and to spend a social 
hour with the Faculty. Some of the rare books from the library were 
on the tables, and conversation turned upon advanced work at Wellesley 
and elsewhere. It is hoped that a Graduate Club is not a thing of the 
distant future. Among those present from out of town were Miss Estelle 
Hurll, M.A., '92, lately elected one of the Alumna? Trustees; Miss 
Whipple, M.A., '87; Miss Florence Bigelow, M.A., '92; Miss Elizabeth 
Hoyt, M.A., '93. 

The following is a list of the graduate students who are doing work at 
the College: Miss A. J. Cannon, '84; Miss A. A. Hall, '85; Miss E. F. 
Abbe and Miss M. L. Bean, '88 ; Miss M. P. Conant, Miss M. J. Holley, 


Miss Mary Lauderburn, Miss A. B. Jenks, and Miss Bertha Smith, '90 ; 
Miss B. I. Barker, '91 ; Miss M. F. Goddard, Miss Maude R. Keller, and 
Miss Frances Lance, '92 ; Miss M. H. Hayes and Miss S. E. Pennhnan, 
'93 ; Miss M. H. Holmes and Miss C. J. Peck, '94. 

The annual meeting of the Boston Branch Association of Collegiate 
Alumnae was held in the Claflin Room of Boston University, 12 Somerset 
Street, Saturday, November 17, at 3 p. m. The election of officers for the 
coming year resulted as follows : Mrs. Alice Upton Pearmain, '83, Welles- 
ley, president ; Miss Ladd, of Cornell, vice president ; Miss Blodgett, of 
Smith, secretary. 

Reports were given by the secretary and treasurer of the past year, 
and by Miss Allen for the club that has devoted itself to child study, and by 
Miss Channing, chairman of Lecture Committee. 

The meeting then adjourned to the rooms of the College Club, 23 
Beacon Street, where brief reports of the recent Congress of the A.C.A., 
at New Haven, were given, and afternoon tea was served. 

Miss Mary Monroe, formerly in the English department of the College, 
and for several years at the head of Waban Cottage, has spent a large part 
of the summer very delightfully with her sister's family, camping in the 
Rocky Mountains of Colorado. 

Miss Mary A. Hall, '80, is teaching in the Providence High SchooL 
Miss Hall's address is 417 Pine Street. 

Mrs. Stella Courtwright Davis, Wellesley, '82-83, has the chair of 
Latin at Coates College, Terre Haute, Ind. 

Miss Susan L. Beers, Special, '84 and '85, has gone abroad for a year. 

Miss Jeanie McMartin, Special, '85, will spend the winter abroad. 

Miss Maude B. Foster, '83-85, is secretary of the Los Angeles Settle- 
ments Association, and actively engaged in work in the Spanish-Mexican 
quarter of the city. 

Dr. Oliver Wendell Holmes was an honorary member of the Class of '87, 
and many memories of his gracious kindness linger with that class. Once, 


one Monday morning, he came to an informal reception in his honor, and 
none who were present will forget his genial interest in all about him, or his 
delightful and generous readings from his poems. Again he came on Senior 
Tree Day, this time wearing the scarlet-trimmed gown in which he had 
received the degree of D.C.L. at Oxford, and joining his class in the 
exercises of the day with characteristic enthusiasm. 

Miss Ellen Scott Davison, '87, is teaching History in St. Margaret's 
School, Waterbury, Conn. 

Miss Anna Palen, '88, spends part of each month with her cousin, Miss 
Helen M. Gould, at her home near Irvington, N. Y. 

Miss Grace H. Miller, formerly of '88, has resigned her position in Mrs. 
Henry's School, New York, and is engaged in preparing a young girl for 

Miss Lilian B. Miner, '88, is teaching in the Providence High School, 
instead of in Shepardson College, Granville, Ohio, as stated in the October 
Magazine. Miss Miner's address is 84 Melrose Street. 

Miss Edith James, '89, is at home, 708 South Q Street, Tacoma, Wash. 

Miss Emily H. Leonard, '85-89, is teaching Psychology and English 
Literature in St. Margaret's School, Waterbury, Conn. 

Miss Bessie Macky, '89, is still in the Drexel Library, Philadelphia. 

The address of Mrs. Grace Brackett Lewis, '90, is Newton Centre, Mass. 
Mr. Lewis has recently become the College Secretary for the Young Men's 
Christian Association of Massachusetts and Rhode Island. 

Miss Anne Burgess, '90, is first assistant in the High School, Walpole, 


Miss Sue Child, '90, is teaching Greek in the High School, Canton, N. Y. 

Miss Rosa Dean, '90, is principal teacher at the Grand River Boarding 
School, Standing Rock Agency (U. S. I. D.), post-office address, Fort Yates, 
North Dakota. This appointment is made by Commissioner Browning, under 
the civil service law. Parties willing to contribute small (less than four 
pounds) mail packages of pictures, cards, ribbons, neckties, handkerchiefs, 
knickknacks, toys, etc., for brightening the Christmas of the little Indians 


under Miss Dean's care, may notify her at the above address, and she will 
pay the postage required. 

Miss Nancy K. Foster, '83-85, '88-90, is again teaching English and 
Literature in Frobel Institute (Casa de Easas), Los Angeles, California. 

Miss Emma R. Jack, '90, is teaching in her mother's private school at 
Hazleton, Penn. 

Miss Louise B. Swift, '90, is teaching in the Detroit High School. 

Miss Mary Elizabeth Lewis, '91, is spending her third year at Coates 
College, Terra Haute, Indiana, as head of the English Department. 

The address of Miss Blanche Clay, '92, given in a previous number of 
the Magazine as Laconia, N. H., is not her permanent address. Miss Clay 
will be at her home in Boston, where she expects to study Hebrew. 

Miss Cornelia E. Green, '92, is studying art at the Rhode Island School 
of Design. 

The engagement of Miss Mabel Glover, '92, to Dr. Mall, of Johns 
Hopkins University, is announced. 

Miss Frances Lance, '92, is teaching English at Woodbury Institute, 
Quincy, Mass. The engagement of Miss Lance to Mr. J. Wright Hunt, of 
Duluth, is announced. 

Miss Lillian V. Pike, '92, is assistant principal in the High School, 
Kendallville, Ind. 

The address of Mrs. John H. Raven, formerly Miss Elizabeth Strong, 
'92, is Metuchen, N. J. 

Miss Carrie Mann, '93, retains her position in Wayland Seminary, 
Washington, D. C. 

A correction should be made in a notice of the October Magazine. The 
child of Mrs. Alice Jones Shedd, '93, has been named William Edmund 
Shedd, Jr., not Arthur William, as printed. 

Miss Adelaide Smith, '93, who spent last summer studying at Chicago 
University, is teaching in the School of Science, National Park Seminary, 
Forest Glen, Md., instead of studying at Chicago University, as stated in 


the October Magazine. In addition to her teaching, Miss Smith is taking 
three courses in Mathematics at Columbian University. 

Miss Laura Whipple, '93, retains her position in Kansas City. 

The address of Miss Clara L. Hovey, '91-93, is Newburyport, Mass. 

The engagement of Miss Helen Pope, '90-93, to Mr. Stanley, of 
Cleveland, has been announced. 

Miss Delia Smith, '94, is principal of the High School, Moingona, Iowa. 

The address of Miss Emily Foley, '93, is 5 rue Berryer, Paris, France. 

Miss Elizabeth Perry, '93, has accepted a position in the High School, 
Barrington, R. I. 

Miss Grace G. Rickey, '93, is teaching Greek and Music in the River- 
side School, Auburndale, Mass. 

Miss Eleanor Schleicher, '93, is teaching in San Antonio, Tex. Her 
address is 303 San Pedro Avenue. 

Miss Annie B. Tomlinson is teaching in the High School, Shelton, Conn. 

Miss Marion W. Anderson, '94, is teaching in Miss Goodnow's school, 
Wellesley, Mass. 

Miss Mary A. Herrick, '94, is teaching in Miss Kimball's school, Wor- 
cester, Mass. 

Miss Grace M. Miller, '92-94, is teaching in the Union School, Port- 
ville, N. Y. 

Miss Edith Judson, '94, is teaching in Miss Thurston's school, Pittsburg, 

Miss Bertha Longley, '94, is teaching in the English High School, Wor- 
cester, Mass. 

Miss Grace H. Perkins, '94, is teaching in Arlington, Mass. 

Miss Anna E. Plympton, '85-87 and '93-94, is teaching in Pelham 
Manor, N. Y. 

Miss Roxana H. Vivian, '94, is teaching in the High School at Stough- 
ton, Mass. 


Miss Ora W. L. Slater, '94, is teaching Mathematics in the High 
School, Middletown, Conn. 

Miss Susan S. Hawley, '94, is teaching in Northfield Seminary, North- 
field, Mass. 


Miles-Clark.— On Nov. 8, 1894, Miss Helen Clark, '84-'87, to Mr. 
Henry Robert Miles. 

Rowe-Meeker. — On Wednesday, October 17, Miss Loraine Meeker, 
Special, '86-'89, to Mr. Frederick W. Rowe. 

Armstrong-Holman. — In Amherst, Mass., by Rev. Geo. W. Holman, 
father of the bride, Nov. 6, 1894, Miss Anna E. C. Holman, formerly of 
'92, to Mr. Dwight A. Armstrong, of Orange, Mass. 

Owen-Mc Arthur. — On June 27, 1894, Miss Jane Eliza McArthur, 
'92, to Mr. Daniel Edward Owen. Address, Saco, Maine. 

Bickeord-Holden. — In Bennington, Vt., Miss Alice Holden, formerly 
of '95, to Mr. George Hamilton Bickford, of Barton, Vt., Wesleyan Uni- 
versity, '91. 

Moody- Wells. — On June 13, 1894, Miss Frances G. Wells, formerly 
of '95, to Mr. Ambert G. Moody. Address, East Northfield, Mass. 


At Warren, Penn., October 8, a son, Donald Holliday, to Mrs. Kate 
Darling Filler, '83. 

In Hazleton, Penn., September 28, a son, Rudolph, to Mrs. Mary 
A. Pew Emmerich, '86-'87. 

In Berkshire, Vt., July 18, 1894, a son, Bryan Brackett Lewis, to 
Robert E. Lewis and Grace Brackett Lewis, '90. 


In Chelsea, Mass., July 10, 1894, Miss Minna C. Curry, Special, 




Jameson & Knowles Company, 


Boots, Shoes, and 

Specialties: Custom Work, Party Shoes 


No. 15 Winter Street, Boston, 
U. s. A. 


Stationers ^ Engravers 


20 per cent Discount 


Made by Wellesley College Students. 

No. 3 Beacon Street, 

Y^UR attention is called to our stock of 

Gold and Silver Stick Pins ! 
Birthday Gifts ! 

Souvenir Spoons, Souvenir Cups, 
Hair Ornaments. 

Toilet and Desk Furnishings in Sterling and Plated Silver; Marble and Iron Clocks, $6.00 to $20.00. 

Stock in all departments always complete. 

A. StOWell & Co., 24 Winter Street, Boston. 

Cotrell & Leonard- 


New York, 

Makers of 

Caps and 

To the 

American . . 

Illustrated . .. 

Catalogue and 
• Particulars on 

Artists' Materials . . . 

gk Drafting Instruments. 
Art Studies and Books. 

Oil and Water Colors, Crayons, Materials 
For Tapestry, Painting, etc. 

Wadsworth, Howland & Co. 

82 and 84 Washington Street, Boston. 

Branch Store in the 

Grundmann Studios, Clarendon Street, 

Near St. James Avenue. 
Principal Factories 

Maiden, Mass., and Paris, Maine. 



Mackintoshes and Cravenettes, 


$2.00 TO $25.00. 

fflellesley Preparatory, 

Prices 25 per cent lower than Dry Goods Stores. 

. . . {Special IO per cent to Wellesley Students . . . 



Metropolitan Rubber Co., 

Miss Charlotte H. Conant, B.A. 


Miss Florence Bigelow, M.A. 



Gloves and Veiling. 



\ "t\, 'OB-*' 

Calls the attention of the Young Ladies to her stock of Kid, Undressed Kid, and Dog Skin Gloves that 

are suitable for all occasions, also her very becoming stock of Veilings, and solicits their 

patronage, and will give to any of the students 6 per cent discount. 

Hotel Bellevue, 




Manufacturers of First-class 


Special attention given to Club Dinners and Receptions. 




Interior Decorations, 

Nos. 38 to 48 Cornhill, 


cT A s° P D » A v E R r- • • • BOSTON. 




in all Departments 
of Literature . 

can be found at our store. The largest 
assortment in Boston of the popular and 
standard authors. Also a large variety 
at special reductions. Large variety of 
Bibles, Prayer Books, Booklets, etc. 

We are noted for low prices. 


The Archway Bookstore, 


Shreve, Crump \ Low Co. 

Jewelers # Silversmith 


Fine Stationery. Card Engraving. 

Programs and Invitations, both printed and 
engraved. Class Day Progams a specialty. 

Class Pins designed and manufactured to 

Parasols and Umbrellas made to order, re- 
covered and repaired. 


. .ONLY. . 

First Glass THroogH Gar Route 


Through Trains Leave Boston as follows : — 
8.30 a. m. (ex. Sunday) Day Express. 
10.30 a. m. (daily) Chicago Special. 
2.00 p. m. (daily) North Shore Limited. 
3.00 p. m. (ex. Sundays) St. Louis and 

Chicago Express. 
7.15 p. m. (daily) Pacific Express. 


Hartford, New Havens New York. 


9.00 a. m. 
11.00 a. m. 

4.00 p. m. 
11.00 p. m. 

(ex. Sunday) 
ex. Sunday) 


3.30 p. m. 

5.30 p. m. 

10.00 p.m. 

6.41 a. m. 

For tickets, information, time-tables, etc., apply 
to nearest ticket agent. 


General Passenger Agent. 




Golf, Tennis, Basket Ball, Gymnasium, and 
General Athletic Goods. 

SWEATERS in Great Variety. 

Special discount of IS per cent to Wellesley Students. Send 
for Catalogue. 


No. 344 Washington Street, 



11 John Street, Mew CJork, 

Designer and Maker 

Society Badges, 
Fraternity Pins, 
Rings, Emblem 
Jewels of every 
MEDALS — Trophies for presentation, from original 
and artistic designs. Special designs, with esti- 
mates, furnished on application. Inquiries by 
mail promptly attended to. We send design 
plates FREE upon request. 

Wellesley Pins can be obtained from Miss Eliz- 
abeth Stark, Business Manager of Magazine. 

The Dana Hall School, 


Pupils are prepared for regular or for special courses at 
Wellesley College. 

Price for Board and Tuition, $500 for the school year ; 
Tuition for day pupils, $125. 

For further information address the Principals : 

Julia A. Eastman, 
Sarah P. Eastman. 

XHHellesle^ jpbarmac^, 




Trunks and Bags, 

Pure Drugs and Medicines. 

IVo. 22 Chauucy Street, 

Physicians' Prescriptions a Specialty. 



Our — ~~ 

Crepe Art Department 

will, during December, contain much 
that will impress those who are in- 
terested in manipulating this modern 
and effective material. We are en- 
abled through careful study and long 
experience to get the very latest and 
highest effects in 

Table and Room Decoration, 


Flowers and Novelties 

made from same furnish a complete 
surprise to all who do not fully realize 
the possibilities of crepe paper. 

Our artists in attendance will be glad at any 
time to give suggestions and advice regarding the 
most effective use of our papers. 


Mo. 28 Franklin Street, Boston. 

For Fine Millinery 

•Visit . . . 


No. ax Temple Place, 


k (P-KENISON-)' 

Corns, 25 cents: 


plaster for tender feet, 25cts. 

Ladies' and Gentlemen's rooms 

entirely separate 


The Senior Class Photographer 
is . . . 

Charles W. Hearn, 

No. 392 Boylston Street, 

Boston, Mass. 

Arrange dates with the Senior Class Photograph 
Committee : 

Miss Bertha Morrill. 
Miss Caroline Jacobus. 
Miss Sophie Voorhees. 

Also Photographer to 

Amherst College . 

Dartmouth College 

Mt. Holyoke College . 

B. U. College of Liberal Arts 

Lasell Seminary 

Wesleyan University 

Etc., etc. 


146 Tremont Street, Boston. 

Branch of 

863 Broadway, 91. V. 

Pure, Fresh, and Delicious 


A Choice Selection of Fancy Baskets, 
Boxes, and Bonbonnieres constantly 
on hand at very reasonable prices. . . ' 

Mall Orders given Prompt Attention. 


Leonard N. Howe, D.M.D. 


Corner Boylston and Tremont Streets, 


Late Instructor of Operative and Surgical 
Dentistry in Harvard University. 

Office Hours, 9 A. M. to 5 P. M. 



Oculists' prescriptions correctly filled. 
GrlciSSeS carefully fitted and adjusted to 
insure nose comfort. 

Ten per cent discount to 
Wellesley Students. 

All kinds of spectacle repairing neatly executed. 
References given. 

CHARLES W. HURLL, Jr., Practical Optician, 

409 Washington St., (between Winter and Bromfield Sts.) 

•••Pine Carpets- •• 




William Morris's Patterns in Carpets and Hammersmith Rugs. 

We feel that our Pall Stock will bear the Closest Inspection. 

Joel Goldthwait & Company, 

Nos. 163 to 169 Washington Street, Boston. 



Will call for and deliver clothes at all the College Buildings. 

Plain Clothes by the dozen. 
Fancy Ironing by the hour. 
No bleach or acid used, but clothes dried in the 
open air, weather permitting. 

Fine work of all kinds a specialty. Clothes 
handled carefully and ironed neatly. 

A card to the Wellesley Steam Laundry will be 
promptly attended to. 

J. T. MELLUS, Proprietor. 

The holmes company 

Patent union onflepment 

Is made to 

Fit the Form . . . 

And is unlike any other garment 


Equestrian Tights, etc. 

Specialties to order. 

No. 49 Temple Plhce. Boston. 




Session '94~'95 opens October i, 1894. Three years, Graded Course. Instruction 
by Lectures, Clinics, Recitations and practical work, under supervision in Laboratories 
and Dispensary of College, and in U. S. Infirmary. Clinics and operations in most of 
the City Hospitals and Dispensaries open to Women Students. 

For Catalogues, etc., address 


321 East I5tti Street, New York. 


She : When we got our 
•wheels last year -we didn't 
suppose there could be any 
better ones, did we ? 

He : No ; but the '94's are 
ahead of them. They are 
better accommodated to the 
different heights of riders. 
They are lighter, because of 
the new Columbia seamless 

She : The saddles are 
more comfortable. 

He : And stronger, too. 
And these guards and break 
work will never let you catch 
your gown. 

She : Do you know whak 
my gown is ? The Columbia 
Bicycle habit. Redfern of 
New York designed it for the 
company, and it is ju6t the 


and instructorin riding. Free 
instruction to purchasers. All 
orders promptly executed. 
Catalogues free on applica- 

Wellesley College, 


I s /a. b> pelade 

cy/falflW* ft°«.e 






In every department of our store we allow Wellesley 

Professors and Students a discount, 

generally 10 per cent. 

During the year you will notice many attractive goods which your friends at home 
would be glad to see. We shall be glad to send samples at your request. 

Dress Goods, Hosiery, Neckwear, Millinery, 
Underwear and Art Embroideries 

are perhaps some of the departments most interesting to students, but the discount applies 
to every department. 


Tremont Street and Temple Place - - BOSTON, MASS. 

Houghton, Mifflin & Co.'s Holiday Books. 

Their Wedding Journey. 

By W. D. Howblls. Holiday Edition. Fully illustrated 
by Clifford Carleton, and bound in'very attractive style 
from a design by Mrs. Whitman. Crown Svo, $3.00. 

Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam. 

In the remarkable translation of Edward Fitzgerald. 
With a biography of Omar Khayyam, and 56 superb illus- 
trations by Elinu Vedder. Popular Edition. Crown Svo, 

The Last Leaf. 

By Oliver Wendell Holmes. Popular Holiday Edi- 
tion. With a touching Prefatory Letter by Dr. Holmes, 
and many illustrations by Hopkinson Smith and Greo. 
Wharton Edwards. Crown Svo, $1.50. 

The Oliver Wendell Holmes Vear Book. 

Selections from Dr. Holmes' prose and poetry, for Every 
Day of the Vear. With a fine portrait. Attractively bound. 
i6mo, $1 00. 

Little Air. Thimbiefinger, and His Queer 

A delightful book for young folks (and older ones). By 
Toel Chandler Harris, author of the " Uncle Remus ' 
books. Fully and charmingly illustrated by Oliver 
Herford. Square Svo, $2.00. 

The Story of a Bad Boy. 

By Thomas Bailey Aldrich. Holiday Edition. With 
numerous illustrations by A. B. Frost." Crown octavo, 
finely printed and bound in unique style, forming an ex. 
ceedingly attractive book. $2.00. 

Timothy's Quest. 

A fine Holiday Edition of one of Mrs. Wiggin's most 
popular stories. Very fully and artistically illustrated by 
Oliver Herford, and attractively bound. Crown 8vo, 

In Sunshine Land. 

Poems for Voung Folks. By Edith M. Thomas. Illus- 
trated by Katharine Pvle. Crown Svo, handsomely 
bound, $1.50. 

Whittier's Poetical Works. 

Complete in a new Cambridge Edition. With a biograph- 
ical sketch, notes, index to titles and first lines, a portrait, 
and an entiravingof Whittier's Amesburyhome. Uniform 
with the Cambridge Longfellow. Crown Svo, gilt top, 
$2.00; half calf, gilt top, $3.50; tree calf, or full levant, $5.50. 

John Greenleaf Whittier. 

Life and Letters, by Samuel T. Pickard. With portraits 
and views. 2 vols., crown Svo, gilt top, $4.00. A work 
which all lovers of Whittier will welcome with peculiar 

Sold by all Booksellers. Sent, post-paid, by 

Houghton, Mifflin <& Co., Boston. 

Franl Wood, Printer, Boston.